Over the decades that sound bite from The Terminator had become the punch line to thousands of jokes, but coming from Chief Detective Biba that afternoon, it sounded like a threat.

  In the course of her lifetime, Ali Reynolds had become a keen observer of people. As a matter of course, she usually liked law enforcement officers. After all, she’d been one of those herself for a brief period of time. But for some reason, Chief Detective Biba didn’t give her a warm fuzzy feeling, and to all appearances, he felt the same about her.

  “Believe me,” she said. “I’ll be here waiting. You can count on it.”

  She watched the man stride out of the room and down the corridor toward the elevator. When she turned back to B., she was surprised to find that his eyes were wide open. Clearly he wasn’t nearly as out of it as he had seemed while the detective was present.

  “Finally,” B. said, sounding surprisingly alert. “I thought he’d never leave.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Was that whole ‘I can’t remember’ thing a put-up deal?”

  “Pretty much,” B. admitted. “I wanted to get rid of him.”

  “He seems to think what happened on I-17 wasn’t an accident,” Ali said.

  “I don’t think it was, either,” B. said.

  Ali was startled. “Really?” she asked in dismay. “You believe Hal’s vehicle was deliberately targeted?”

  “I do, and that’s why I want you to get on a plane and go to London, the sooner, the better.”

  That was the last thing Ali expected him to say. “Wait,” she objected. “It was bad enough when you were talking to Biba and couldn’t remember up from down, but now you’re downright delusional.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Why on earth would I want to go to London?”

  “Because you need to ride herd on the ransomware conference.”

  “Me?” she asked. “Now you really are nuts. This is an international cybersecurity conference, and I’m an electronically challenged liberal arts major who occasionally has trouble with the controls on the microwave.”

  “But I still need you to go,” B. insisted. “High Noon is an important part of this conference, and people will be expecting a principal to be there. If I can’t go, you have to. Besides, don’t sell yourself short. Once those arrogant jackasses take a look at you, you’ll have them eating out of your hand before they know what hit them.”

  “I don’t want anyone eating out of my hand,” Ali hissed, “and I’m not going anywhere. You’re my husband. You’ve been injured and are in a hospital. I’m staying right here.”

  “Please, Ali,” B. begged. “I really need you to go.”

  “Why?” she insisted.

  “Ask Stu,” B. replied. “He knows all about it.”

  Just like that, B. Simpson threw his longtime friend and protégé under the bus. Even worse, a moment later, the meds really did take over. Without a hint of feigning, B. Simpson fell fast asleep.

  CHAPTER 9

  PHOENIX, ARIZONA

  Wednesday, January 1, 2020, 3:00 p.m. (MST)

  Out in the waiting room at St. Gregory’s, Ali found Sister Anselm and Stu Ramey huddled in deep conversation. “I need to speak to Stu in private,” Ali announced.

  Recognizing Ali’s no-nonsense tone of voice, they both looked at her in alarm. “What’s going on?” Stu asked. “Is B. all right?”

  “He probably will be,” Ali replied, giving Stu a cold stare, “but I’m not so sure about you.”

  Sister Anselm took the hint and beat a hasty retreat. “I believe I’ll go see if Sister Cecelia could use a hand,” she said and scuttled off.

  Ali turned on Stu, her eyes alight with fury. “The guy who followed me into B.’s room turned out to be an investigator for the Arizona Highway Patrol, Chief Detective Warren Biba. According to him, what happened to Hal and B. on the freeway this morning most likely was no accident. Biba believes another vehicle deliberately forced Hal’s Lincoln off the road.”

  “You’re kidding!” Stu exclaimed.

  “No, I’m not,” Ali responded. “He’s also under the impression that the attack was intended for B. He wanted to know if B. had any enemies—if there was anyone who wished him harm. B. said no, but that may not be true. After Biba left, B. began insisting that I go to London in his place, as though we’re really at risk here. So what’s going on, Stu? B. says you’re the one who happens to know all about it. Would you care to enlighten me?”

  Rather than responding aloud, Stu ducked his head and seemed to be doing an in-depth study of his shoelaces.

  “So tell me,” Ali continued, “why should the least tech-savvy person on the payroll be the one racing off to represent High Noon’s interests at the ransomware conference? B. claims that with him in the hospital, someone else must be there. He made it sound like a matter of life and death. Considering what happened on I-17 today, maybe it is.”

  Once again Ali paused, waiting for a response, but Stu remained stubbornly silent.

  “So here’s the deal,” Ali concluded. “B. says you’re the guy in the know, and since I’m completely in the dark, you’d better start talking.”

  At last Stu raised his head. When his eyes met Ali’s furious gaze, they were full of regret. “I’m sorry about all this, Ali,” he apologized. “We didn’t mean to leave you out of the loop, but B. needed to discuss the situation with someone. With you completely caught up in looking out for your mom, he settled on me.”

  Ali wasn’t at all mollified. “Needed to discuss what?” she demanded.

  “The situation.”

  “What situation?”

  Stu sighed. “B. believes one or more of our competitors may be trying to put us out of business. In terms of name recognition, being asked to speak at the ransomware conference was a big step forward. It moved us out of the minor leagues and into the majors, but if we fail to do well at the conference, or worse, if we end up being a no-show, it’ll play directly into the hands of what our critics, including some of our biggest competitors, are saying about us.”

  “Which is?”

  Stu took a steadying breath. “Ever since we were able to resolve that internal ransomware issue at A & D Pharmaceuticals without bringing in law enforcement and causing a media meltdown, Albert Gunther has been singing our praises far and wide.”

  “That seems like a good thing,” Ali offered.

  Stu nodded. “On the surface it is,” he agreed, “and it’s been good for our bottom line.”

  As High Noon’s CFO, Ali was well aware of a recent overall uptick in business. By any measure, things were booming. “From where I’m standing, that looks like a good thing,” she said.

  “Yes, but some of our newly acquired customers came to us as a direct result of the A & D situation. They moved to High Noon after either canceling or not renewing long-held contracts with other firms, including some of the leaders in the cybersecurity field.”

  “So we’ve rocked a few boats,” Ali said. “Isn’t that what competition is all about?”

  “Unfortunately, some of the boats we’re rocking are big ones, and they’re not happy about it. Lately one individual in particular has been taking swipes at us in industry journals as well as the general media.”

  “What individual?”

  “A hotshot tech blogger named Adrian Willoughby. He’s been pushing the premise that the A & D situation was bogus—that we didn’t fix anything because there wasn’t a problem in the first place. He’s also offended by the fact that a tiny outfit located somewhere in the wilds of Arizona and operating with a handful of employees is stealing customers from firms with hundreds of employees.”

  “What’s his beef?” Ali asked. “We’re gaining customers and the other companies are losing them because we’re more cost-effective. Without carrying the same amount of employee-based overhead, we can charge less for our services. So tell me about this Willoughby guy,” Ali urged.

  “He bills himself as a kind of tech guru,” Stu replied. “He claims to be unbiased, but B. suspects that someone—probably a pissed-off competitor—is paying Willoughby under the table to give us bad press. In one of his recent blogs he hinted that an upstart US-based company headed by a former gamer—a flimflam man—is operating a bait-and-switch scheme by luring customers to sign up with the promise of low prices but without the ability to actually deliver the requisite services.”

  Ali’s immediate reaction was to be outraged that anyone would refer to B. as a flimflam man. “Can we sue him for libel?”

  “Probably not—he didn’t mention us by name, but since High Noon is the only cybersecurity company run by a former gamer, it’s pretty clear who he meant.”

  “And this is what had B. so worried all during Christmas?”

  Stu nodded.

  “But it’s hardly a reason to commit murder,” Ali replied.

  “That may be,” Stu agreed, “but there’s a lot of money at stake here. Willoughby has managed to create the expectation that High Noon will fall flat on its face at the conference, and our not showing up would turn that prediction into a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

  “That’s why B. is so adamant about my going to London?” Ali asked.

  Stu nodded. “He’s been working on his presentation for weeks. It’s probably on either his laptop or his iPad. Once Frigg retrieves it, all you’ll have to do is stand and deliver.”

  “Why don’t you do it?” Ali asked. “You know a hell of a lot more about all this than I do.”

  “I’m not a public speaker, and you are,” Stu declared. “Not only that, you’re a full partner in the company, and that would carry some weight in terms of optics. At events like this, that’s a big deal.”

  “I understand the importance of how things look,” Ali replied, “and maybe I could deliver B.’s paper in a sensible fashion. After all, I read news scripts for years back in the day, but what happens when the presentation is over? How’s it going to look if someone in the audience asks me a question I’m unable to answer? In terms of optics, that would be a disaster.”

  “I hadn’t thought about the Q and A,” Stu said with a frown, “and you’re right, that could be dicey.” He fell silent for a moment, then his face brightened.

  “What if we had Cami do the presentation?” he asked. “Your being there will count from a public relations standpoint, but Cami will be able to handle whatever questions anybody throws at her.”

  Ali could see that sending Cami to pinch-hit was an inspired solution. With Cami delivering the presentation and with Ali there to provide gravitas, maybe together they’d be able to cover all the bases B. usually handled on his own.

  “All right,” Ali said at last. “I can see that having both of us go is probably the best solution, but if the conference starts tomorrow, how do we make it happen?”

  Once Ali was on board, Stu was ready to move forward. “You’ll need to use a private jet,” he said decisively. “Given that it’s New Year’s Day, that might be problematic, but if anyone can line one up in a hurry, I’d lay money on Frigg.”

  “Okay,” Ali agreed, “put her on the case. But here’s something else to think about. Let’s suppose Detective Biba is right and B. was the target of what happened on the freeway today. How would anyone outside High Noon itself know when and how he was traveling?”

  “I’ve already had Cami and Lance do a system-wide check on all High Noon–affiliated devices. No sign of a hack there,” Stu said. “We’ll be examining Hal Holden’s devices next.”

  “If B. really was the target, what are the chances that whoever’s behind it might send someone else after Cami or me while we’re on the ground in the UK?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Stu said. “Maybe we should look into hiring bodyguards.”

  Ali was all in now, too. “Okay,” she said with a nod. “I’ll try contacting Sonja Bjornson with WWS.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “She’s with Wonder Woman Security. They’re the ones who looked out for me when I was in LA during that Gilchrist mess. Sonja has high-profile female clients all over the world.”

  “Okay,” Stu said. “Sounds good.”

  “And since there will be two of us,” Ali said, “someone needs to let the hotel know we’ll need two rooms instead of one.”

  The elevator door slid open, revealing Sister Anselm. As she started in their direction, Stu excused himself and then walked across the room with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Ali had no doubt he was summoning Frigg.

  “How’s Hal?” Ali asked.

  “His condition is still critical. He has a closed head injury as well as what’s known as a ‘flail chest.’ The steering wheel broke so many ribs that his chest wall has gone floppy, severely impacting his ability to breathe. That’s why he’s on a ventilator. So what’s happening here? How’s B.?”

  The term “critical” sent a shiver through Ali’s body. If B. had been the actual target of the attack, did that mean Hal’s injuries were due to the fact that he had been driving B. to the airport? Ali quickly brushed the disturbing thought aside in favor of answering Sister Anselm’s question.

  “The last I saw he was out like a light, but you need to know things are a bit unsettled at the moment.”

  “Why?” Sister Anselm asked. “What’s going on?”

  “Depending on aircraft availability, Cami and I may or may not be flying to London tonight.”

  Sister Anselm was clearly dismayed. “You’re heading off to London with B. in the hospital here? Why would you do that?”

  “Because he wants me to,” Ali explained. “In fact, he almost made it mandatory.”

  “All right,” Sister Anselm said finally. “Go you must, but you can count on my hanging around here until he’s out of the woods. Understood?”

  Ali felt a rush of gratitude. “Thank you,” she murmured. “It’ll make it easier for me to go if I know you’re here, but it’s not exactly a done deal. It’s such short notice that we may not be able to locate an aircraft.”

  “Don’t give that idea a second thought,” Sister Anselm said with a reassuring smile. “When it comes to the Ali Reynolds I know, where there’s a will, there’s always a way.”

  CHAPTER 10

  PHOENIX, ARIZONA

  Wednesday, January 1, 2020, 4:00 p.m. (MST)

  While Ali and Sister Anselm had been speaking, a nurse entered B.’s room, no doubt intent on taking his vitals. She was still there, checking the monitors, when Ali and Sister Anselm arrived on the scene and found B. not only awake but seemingly in a jovial mood.

  “Hey, you two,” he said with a grin. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Out in the waiting room,” Ali answered. “The last I saw, you were sound asleep.”

  “Yes,” B. agreed, “but I’m awake now. I had a dream about hiking the Grand Canyon. It was beautiful. You should have seen all the colors.”

  Sister Anselm turned to Ali. “Those are the pain meds talking,” she advised. “Having vivid dreams is pretty standard.”

  B. turned to the nurse. “When’s dinner?” he asked.

  “I’ll check,” she said, “but you won’t be having solid food tonight. It’s probably noodle soup with Jell-O for dessert.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” he said. “How’s Hal doing?”

  B.’s mood darkened as Sister Anselm filled him in on the driver’s condition. “It sounds like he’s in a lot worse shape than I am.”

  “He is,” Sister Anselm agreed, “and he’s in for a long, difficult recovery.”

  “And we’ll do whatever we can to help,” B. said. Then, turning to Ali, he added, “What about London?”

  “I’m going and so is Cami,” Ali answered. “At least, we’re going to try.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “Frigg is trying to book a charter, but since it’s New Year’s there’s no telling if she can make it work. In the meantime, Sister Anselm says she’ll hang around and look after you while I’m gone. It occurred to me that if someone was after you, they might come looking for Cami and me, too, so I’m going to contact Sonja Bjornson about providing a security detail while we’re there. I’ll be in attendance for the PR value while Cami will deliver the presentation and answer all incoming questions.”

  B. looked relieved. “Sounds like you have everything under control.”

  There was a tap on the door. “Dinner,” a male attendant announced.

  He brought in the tray and arranged it on the table attached to B.’s bed. B. uncovered the bowl of soup and then glanced at the two women. “I probably shouldn’t eat in front of you.”

  “Not to worry,” Sister Anselm assured him with a smile. “We grabbed something in the cafeteria earlier.”

  Just then Stu appeared in the doorway and beckoned to Ali.

  “What is it?”

  “Frigg’s got a lead on a Gulfstream,” he said. “It was scheduled to fly a skiing party from San Diego to Aspen tonight, but there was a death in the host’s family. The plane is fueled up, on the ground in San Diego, and available on a moment’s notice.”

  “Book it,” Ali said without hesitation. “Will we be flying out from here in Phoenix or from Flagstaff?”

  “I checked the weather. Either one will work. Which do you prefer?”

  “Let’s make it Flag,” Ali said. “That’ll give Cami and me a little more time to pack.”

  “Okay,” Stu agreed, “but we’d better head out soon.”

  Ali turned back to B. “I guess we’re leaving, then,” she said. Bending over the bed, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, “but you’d better do everything Sister Anselm says while I’m gone. If you don’t, there’ll be hell to pay when I get back.”

  Stu was just ending a phone call when Ali stepped out into the hall. “We’re good, then?” she asked.

  Stu nodded. “The flight’s confirmed.”

  “Have you talked to Cami?”

  Stu nodded again. “Briefly,” he said.

  “Has the charter company sent a flight plan?”