“How can you be sure you’re even related? Not that it matters, but—”
“I took a DNA test and found enough of a genetic link to Hamilton’s direct descendants in the registry to verify the connection.”
“Fascinating, Dee, but what does any of this have to do with Wyatt Stone? That’s why you called me in a panic and asked me to come over, isn’t it?”
“Stone put a call out on his show for information leading to the other six spoons. It threw me for one hell of a loop. I admit I freaked out.”
“He has one of them?”
“The man held it up for the whole world to see. Thank God I’m a fan of the show and was watching tonight.” Dierdre dropped onto a slate blue wingback chair and gripped the arms. “I can only assume he intends to go live with the document once they film him tracking down a few spoons to generate interest. I wanted to wait until late January to produce the parchment. People have short memories, and I need a huge talking point to thrust me into the limelight right before the first primaries.”
Jill’s brow furrowed. “The document will validate your candidacy no matter when you come forward with it.”
“Maybe and maybe not. If I make an announcement now, my opponents will have plenty of time to dig up dirt and claim my spoon was stolen, that I was never intended to be the legitimate heir to Hamilton’s legacy. That’s not the focus I want.”
“If you win the nomination, Cox will—”
Dierdre waved a dismissive hand. “The man is a ticking timebomb. I’m counting on him to self-destruct before the general election. I’d bet my first born he’ll be embroiled in a far bigger scandal that will eclipse any concern voters have over how I came to possess my spoon.”
“Good point.” Her trusted advisor rose from the couch and walked to the window to pull back the drape. Streetlights illuminated the exclusive Georgetown neighborhood where traffic was light at this hour. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want those spoons, which will put a major roadblock in Stone’s path. No spoons. No parchment revelation. I’ll be in control, exactly the way I want. Didn’t you mention you have a friend who is close to him?”
Jill nodded. “Someone I knew years ago. I don’t see how—”
“I want you to contact her and convince her to work for us. If she’s privy to Stone’s schedule, she’ll know where the film crew is headed. All we’ll have to do is confiscate each spoon before Wyatt Stone can get his hands on it.”
“I suppose I can ask her.”
“Do better than ask. I need you to make this happen. My candidacy depends on it.”
Chapter Three
The ringing doorbell penetrated Wyatt’s deep focus on the ancestry research spread across the dining room table. He blinked and frowned as Stella ran out of the room barking. “I’m not expecting anyone.”
“Mom must be early to pick me up.” Bree left the kitchen carrying her phone in one hand and an apple in the other. A few seconds later, the front door squeaked open, and the dog stopped barking. “May I help you?”
His daughter was using her polite voice. That got his attention, and he pushed back his chair.
“Is your, uh, dad available? I’d like to speak to him.” A woman, her low, smooth tone reminding him a little of Audrey Hepburn.
“I’m afraid he doesn’t see fans at home. If you contact the studio—”
He was already on his feet when the stranger’s response made him stumble.
“I’m not a fan. Tell him it’s about a spoon. I’ll wait outside.”
He practically sprinted through the doorway into the living room. “I’ll talk to her, Bree.”
“Okay.” His daughter gave him a look that said he’d lost his mind as she opened the door wide. “You know what happened the last time, but who am I to argue?”
A woman, probably in her mid-twenties, stood on the front porch. Despite the fact she was wearing running shorts with a faded MIT T-shirt and her face was damp with sweat, she was so stunning he lost his train of thought. Finally, he snapped his jaw shut and smiled.
“You have information about a spoon?”
She nodded. Chocolate brown eyes fringed with long lashes gave him a curious look. “Dare I ask what happened last time?”
Despite her unabashed curiosity, he couldn’t hold back grin. “Let’s just say it involved a restraining order.”
“Yikes.”
His smile faded. “I hope that won’t be necessary again. How did you find my address?”
Those gorgeous eyes rolled. “It took me about three minutes, but I’m a little more competent on a computer than your average stalker, so you probably don’t have anything to worry about.”
Her answer didn’t minimize his uneasiness in the least. He wasn’t stupid enough to be taken in by a pretty face, but on the off chance she did know something . . . “Let’s talk on the porch. It’s a nice day.” He stepped outside, pushed Stella back into the house with his foot, and shut the door behind him.
“I don’t blame you for being cautious.”
He pointed toward the padded swing hanging from stout chains to his right. “Have a seat. You obviously know who I am, so you have me at a disadvantage.”
She sat where he suggested while he chose a rattan chair and turned it to face her.
“Talia Davis. Nice to meet you Mr. Stone, or may I call you Wyatt?”
“Wyatt is fine. You saw my pitch on the show?”
“I did.” She leaned back against the cushions, seemingly unruffled in his presence. “How many nutcases have contacted the studio since then?”
“Too many. The production staff spends all their time sorting through tips, so far with no positive results.”
“I figured, which is why I decided on the direct approach. You made me curious, but I’d like to know why you’re so interested in these spoons.”
His heart sank. Not that his hopes had been very high to begin with. “For now, that’s privileged information.”
“Would this loosen your lips?” She pulled a spoon from the pocket of her shorts and held it toward him.
He leaned forward, barely controlling the urge to snatch it from her palm. The silver had been roughly cleaned and still held traces of tarnish, but the etching on the handle appeared to be a harp. “May I?”
“Sure.” She handed it over.
He stroked the familiar shape, the curves and weight exactly like his great-uncle’s spoon, and his pulse accelerated. “Holy shit. I can’t believe it.”
“I thought you might be interested. Maybe we can go inside to talk? I ran here and could use some water. If you don’t mind.”
“I’m sorry. Of course.” He sprang to his feet, still gripping the spoon. “I’ll get you something to drink. Are you hungry? I’m sure I have . . . food of some sort.”
She slid off the swing, her lips curving in a hint of a smile as he held open the door. “As appetizing as that sounds, just water is fine.”
“Okay.” He shut the door and forced himself to hand over her spoon. “Coming right up.”
While he took two bottles from the fridge, she stood beside the table, her attention on the papers layering the surface. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“I’m trying to trace my spoon back to the original owner. Since it wasn’t always handed down to a direct heir, the process is fairly complicated.”
“Why does it matter?” She took the water and twisted off the lid.
“I’m not simply looking for the spoons, although that’s obviously important. We’re in the business of producing an entertaining TV show. That means including fascinating facts about each owner to keep people watching through several episodes.
She took another swallow and eyed him steadily. “Are you going to explain why this is all so earth-shattering? You mentioned the founding fathers in your televised plea.”
He tried to read her expression, searching for a hidden agenda. The fact that she’d so easily found his private residence still bothered him, but her cool
composure gave nothing away. She certainly didn’t act like a star-struck fan. Not that he’d mind terribly if this woman turned up in his bed like the last one had . . .
Dismissing the distracting image, he fished for information. “Were there any old documents kept with your spoon?”
“Not to my knowledge. My mom treasured it because her grandmother gave it to her shortly before she died.” Talia lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “We moved around a lot when I was young, so papers might have been lost, but I don’t remember my mom mentioning any.”
“Is it too much to hope you’ve done any genealogy research?”
Her lips firmed, and she shook her head. “I wasn’t raised in a family who had generational Sunday dinners or big holiday gatherings. My mother’s parents cut her off when she married my dad, and he grew up in the foster care system.”
Despite the MIT shirt, it seemed her life hadn’t been easy. Not that wearing a faded T-shirt necessarily meant she’d attended the prestigious school.
“I’m fairly adept at tracing family history. I’m sure with a starting point like your mother’s maiden name, I can work my way back through your family tree with a little digging. Your unique background would provide a definite human-interest aspect to the overall story.”
“What if I don’t want to be a bug under your microscope?”
He gave her his most enticing smile, the one he’d been told curled women’s toes. “No Stone Unturned is a class production, not a gossip show. You’d have control over what aspects of your life we air.” He pushed a little harder. “While I’m not authorized to offer you a cash deal, my producer is, and my guess is the amount will be substantial.”
“Bribery. That’s an interesting approach.”
His neck heated. “I didn’t mean any disrespect by the offer.”
“Then you might want to work on your delivery.” She finished her water and set the empty bottle on the counter next to his swear jar. “Charm, don’t bulldoze.”
A giggle preceded Bree and Stella into the room. She pressed a hand over her mouth, but another snicker escaped. “She’s got you there, Dad.”
Their unexpected visitor and his daughter exchanged a look of complete understanding. A female bonding thing, he assumed—at his expense.
“Uh, Bree, this is Talia Davis. She has one of the spoons I’m looking for. Talia, this is my daughter, Bree. The mutt sniffing your shoes is Stella.”
“Nice to meet you.” Talia shook the hand his daughter politely extended before bending to pet Stella. “Your dog is adorable.”
“Thanks. She seems to like you.” Bree studied the other woman for a moment before blurting, “You’re really pretty, but not like all the cookie-cutter girls in Hollywood. Maybe if you went on No Stone Unturned, you’d get discovered.”
Talia laughed out loud, a rich, throaty sound. “I’ve zero interest in being discovered. The entertainment industry couldn’t be further from my line of work, but I appreciate the compliment. It’s actually one of the more thoughtful ones I’ve received.”
Bree beamed before releasing a dramatic sigh when a horn honked. “Mom’s timing sucks.”
Wyatt walked over and gave her a hard hug and a kiss on top of her head. “I love you. I’ll see you in a week. Sooner, since I’ll be at your cross-country race unless I have to leave town unexpectedly.”
“Okay. I love you, too.” She flashed a quick smile at Talia, then urged Stella out of the room. “Let’s go, baby.”
A minute later, the door shut with a thump. His shoulders slumped.
“Sorry.”
“Huh?” He turned to face his guest.
“Clearly, watching her walk away isn’t easy.”
“I miss her on my off weeks, but I’m thankful her mother and I have a solid relationship. No ugliness. Bree knows both her parents want what’s best for her.” He paused. “I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”
“I’m glad you did. You just pleaded your case for being a standup guy far better than your earlier, clumsy attempts, which means I’m more inclined to listen instead of telling you to drop dead.”
He shook off the hint of dejection and perked up. “Yeah? You’ll agree to do the show?”
“Let’s not get carried away. I said I’d listen. I’m still waiting to hear what this is all about. Once I know what’s at stake, I’ll make a decision.”
“That seems fair.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. Why don’t I fill you in over dinner? Under the circumstances, treating you to a meal seems like the least I can do.”
“You’re right about that.” She hesitated for a moment. “I don’t usually dine with complete strangers, and—”
He held up both hands. “I’m harmless. I swear.”
She gave him an up and down perusal. “Doubtful, but not an issue. I can take care of myself. I was going to say I’m not dressed to eat out.”
“I’ll drive you back to your house first.” As he waited anxiously for her response, he couldn’t help wondering if an old spoon was his only reason for wanting to have dinner with this woman. Probably not.
“Sure. I have to eat, and I have no other plans. I was in town on business, but my . . . uh . . . coworkers flew out when our job was finished, so I’m on my own tonight.”
He let out a relieved breath. “You’re not from around here? What line of work are you in?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She produced a broad smile.
His responding grin faded as it occurred to him she might not be joking. The woman was a definite enigma wrapped up in a very appealing package.
He backed up a step. “Have a seat in the living room while I change. It’ll only take me a minute.”
“Don’t rush on my account.” She dropped onto the couch as he headed to his bedroom.
He ditched his shorts for a pair of jeans, added a button-down shirt printed with tiny whales, dolphins, and turtles, and shoved his bare feet into a pair of deck shoes. Beach casual since he planned to take Talia to his favorite restaurant down near the Santa Monica pier. After glancing in the mirror and deciding his day-old beard would have to pass, he grabbed his wallet and keys and hurried out to rejoin her.
“Ready to go?”
She nodded and stood. “Love the shirt.”
“Bree gave it to me for my last birthday.” He followed her out onto the porch, locked the door, and led the way to his car.
“Fabulous ride.” Talia settled on the passenger side of the Thunderbird as he started the engine and backed down the driveway. “You’re an interesting character, Wyatt Stone. Nothing predictable about you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m pretty sure you’re something of a conundrum yourself.”
Her laughter floated on the breeze as they cruised down the street. “I like a man who uses big words. You might look like a beach bum, but you obviously have a brain.”
“I’ve always been a total history nerd, but I do like to surf. And hike.”
“It’s healthy to have balance in your life.”
Frown lines furrowed her brow, but a moment later they smoothed out as she leaned back and turned her face into the wind. Strands of shiny hair the color of rich espresso escaped from her ponytail and blew around her face.
He returned his attention to the road. “Which hotel are you staying at?”
“Actually, after my colleagues and I checked out this morning, I rented an Airbnb up near the Getty Villa for the night.”
His brows shot up. “That’s got to be at least five miles. Not exactly a quick jog to my house.”
“No big deal. Mostly, I ran on the beach, which was lovely. Worked off a little frustration in the process.”
He turned right and headed toward the Pacific Coast Highway. “That’s one way to do it. Want to tell me why you’re frustrated?”
“Nope. I don’t spill my guts to men I’ve just met.”
“I guess I’ll have to change your perception of me. Maybe by t
he end of the evening we’ll be friends instead of mere acquaintances.”
“Stranger things have happened, but I wouldn’t count on it.” She pointed. “Turn right on the street up ahead and then take the second left.”
“Got it.” He followed her directions and pulled up in front of the sprawling house she indicated. “Nice.”
“They rent out the apartment over the garage. It has a terrific view of the ocean.” She opened the car door and stepped onto the sidewalk. “You can wait here while I change.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He turned off the engine and draped one arm over the back of the seat.
She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “You use multisyllabic words and follow orders. Maybe we can be friends.”
He was doing his best to recover from the effects of that smile when she disappeared from sight. The woman was crazy gorgeous and smart. Just his type. Too bad she didn’t seem the least bit interested in anything more than friendship.
Not that it matters, moron. His goal was to convince her to appear on No Stone Unturned, not jump into bed.
When she reappeared fifteen minutes later wearing a sleeveless red shirt with a V-neck that showed a hint of cleavage, a short black skirt that stopped well above her knees, and a pair of leather sandals, his noble intentions deserted him. Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, and she’d done something to her eyes that gave them a sultry look.
He cleared his throat as he leaned over to push open the car door. “You look amazing.”
“Thanks.” She got in, dropped her purse in her lap, and pulled the door shut. “Even if you have ulterior motives, going out beats eating in alone.”
Am I that transparent? He opened his mouth to apologize before realizing she was referring to the spoon, not his R-rated thoughts about how damn sexy she was. Dragging his gaze away, he started the engine. “I would have heated up a frozen pizza, so we’re doing each other a favor.”
He flipped on the headlights. As the sun sank below the horizon in a golden haze, they drove in easy silence down the coast toward Santa Monica. After a couple of minutes, he pointed toward the landmark pier sticking out into the ocean. “I must be a big kid at heart because I love seeing the Ferris wheel and roller coaster all lit up at night.”
Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4) Page 4