Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4)

by Jannine Gallant

  He didn’t answer until she dropped onto the chair next to his, wishing they could go back to the easy camaraderie they’d always shared. But regrets wouldn’t fix the situation so he focused on her question. “I’m always ready to travel. Where to?”

  “Mount Vernon. I’ve been in contact with the Ladies’ Association that oversees the estate. They agreed to let us film on the property. Gretchen is fine-tuning the details.”

  “That’s terrific. It’ll give my segment a real sense of place, not to mention legitimacy.” He studied her stiff posture and clenched jaw. “You’re still pissed at me.”

  “My problem, not yours. You didn’t promise me anything other than a good time.”

  He let out a frustrated sigh, wondering what had possessed him to get involved with Kaitlyn. They’d been friends before a bottle of tequila and a two-week affair ruined everything. “You make me sound like a total asshole.”

  “You sort of are.”

  “Probably.” He rested his head against the chair back. “I’ve told you I’m sorry, and I meant it. We obviously want different things out of a relationship, and I should have been clearer about my expectations before we uh . . .”

  “Got drunk and slept together? I’ll get over it. Eventually. But right now, seeing you at work is awkward.”

  Alarm snapped him upright, and he touched her arm. “I hope you don’t intend to quit. You’re terrific at your job.”

  She squinted against the bright sunlight. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t let you mess up my career. I intend to go places in this industry.”

  “I’m sure you will.” When his phone chimed, he slid it out of his pocket and read the text. “Shit.”

  “Something wrong?”

  He squeezed the water bottle he still held until it crackled then had to resist the urge to punch the tree behind him. “Talia doesn’t want to appear on camera. Damn it!”

  “Who’s Talia?”

  “Talia Davis. She showed up at my house a few days ago with one of the spoons.”

  Kaitlyn frowned. “Why didn’t I know about this? There’s been no talk around the studio of a second spoon.”

  “The only person I told was Rita. Once she knew someone with a legitimate claim had come forward, she agreed to go ahead with the multi-episodic approach to the story and film the first installment.”

  “I wondered. The last I heard, she wasn’t sold on the treasure hunt aspect of the piece.”

  “With a guarantee of at least two spoons to trace back to their origins, our hardnosed producer gave me the green light. I was waiting to hear back from Talia before we decided how to proceed with her segment.” He smacked his thigh with a clenched fist. “Damn. I’d really hoped . . .”

  “Which of the seven is this woman connected to? I can start digging into the research.”

  “James Madison, but hold off until I talk to her. I’m not sure how we’ll handle filming if she refuses to appear on camera.”

  “You’d better break the news to Rita soon.”

  “I’ll talk to her once we finish up here. Maybe I’ll see if Oren has any suggestions on the best way to proceed before I confront her.”

  Kaitlyn’s lips curled in a smirk. “Scared?”

  “A little. The shark has been known to bite when she’s crossed.”

  “You’re probably safe. She likes you since your success makes her look smart.” Kaitlyn rose from the chair. “Still, you’d better hope you can pull this off. In our business, we’re each just one failure away from being kicked to the curb.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  He didn’t move until she disappeared into the house. Guilt ate at him. He genuinely liked Kaitlyn but knew it would never go beyond that. She was attractive in a girl next door sort of way, smart, and motivated. She should be his type, but . . .

  His mind strayed to Talia Davis. Rarely had he been so drawn to a woman the minute he met her. He hadn’t stopped thinking about her since she’d stepped out of his car and walked away three days earlier. Loosening his clenched fist, he drank the rest of the water, rose to his feet, and tossed the container in a nearby recycling bin. Instead of calling her, maybe he’d simply show up on her doorstep. Plead his case in person for a second time.

  But first he’d better come up with a backup plan—just in case his charming personality didn’t win her over. Kicking at the grass in frustration, Wyatt headed toward his Thunderbird where Oren Lindquist stood talking to the head cameraman and key grip.

  The director broke off his conversation and waved. “Victor assures me we can mitigate the sun’s glare in edits, so that’s a wrap for today.”

  “Great.” Wyatt leaned against the car’s fender and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a question for you. Let’s say the owner of one of these spoons refuses to appear on camera. From your perspective, what would be the best way to work around that?”

  Lindquist’s dark eyes narrowed. “Are you shitting me?”

  “I’m hoping to resolve the situation, but there’s no guarantee I’ll succeed.”

  The director let out a breath and scowled down at his feet. “I suppose we could use an actor if this person—man or woman?”

  “Woman. Talia Davis turned up on my doorstep a few days ago and offered her spoon for filming, but she’s reluctant to appear on TV. Hopefully, she’ll at least let us tell her story.”

  “I suppose we could hire a professional to play her and run a disclaimer. However, since we pride ourselves on the authenticity of the show, do your best to get this woman to cooperate.”

  “Kaitlyn mentioned we’ll be filming at Mount Vernon soon. I thought I’d take a quick trip to Boston afterward to try to change Talia’s mind.”

  “For Christ’s sake, do whatever’s necessary to convince her. Bribe her. Sleep with her. Put those good looks of yours to work for a change.”

  Wyatt shook his head and wondered how this relic of the misogynistic, golden age of Hollywood still had the ability to surprise him. “One of these days, someone will sue the hell out of both you and the studio if you keep talking that way.”

  “No one has in the forty plus years I’ve worked in this business because I’m careful who I sound off around.” He flashed a mouthful of shiny white teeth that must have cost him a bundle. They contrasted sharply with his darkly-tanned face beneath wavy white hair. “Do you plan to rat me out?”

  Wyatt snorted. “Hell no. I just ignore your more offensive comments since you’re usually willing to at least hear me out before you squash my suggestions.”

  “That’s me. All heart. Do you know when we leave for D.C.?”

  “I’m not sure. Ask Rita. Or better yet, ask her right-hand woman. Gretchen’s around here somewhere. I’m going to try my best to present the situation with Talia in a positive light, and I don’t need your sledgehammer tactics getting in my way.”

  “I won’t say a word. Good luck with the shark. And with that Davis woman. Let me know what happens.”

  “I will. See you later, Oren.” As he walked around the car, he stopped in front of Victor Tyson, who was still waiting nearby. “Sorry to butt in before you’d finished your conversation with Oren.”

  The cameraman shrugged. “No problem. We have at least another hour of work getting background shots before my crew can clear out.”

  Joel Picket stopped texting and gave him an easy smile. The key grip didn’t get ruffled, even when Rita was in a foul mood, which made him a huge asset on the set.

  “Only the talent gets to knock off early.”

  “Believe me, I appreciate the way you keep everything running so smoothly.” Wyatt opened the driver’s side door and paused. “Did you hear we’re heading to Virginia?”

  Victor’s usually serious expression lightened. “Mount Vernon. I actually have family in the D.C. area, so I might try to sneak in a visit with relatives.”

  “I don’t see why you can’t. I have my own errands to run while we’re on the East Coast.”

>   Joel stuck his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts. “You mentioned going to Boston?”

  “After we finish filming, but that trip will be just me, not the whole crew.” Wyatt blew out a breath. “Right now, I have to face Rita with some less than stellar news so I’d better get moving before rush hour backs up traffic.”

  The younger man grinned. “Have fun with that.”

  “I’d rather have all my teeth pulled.” With a nod to his coworkers, he slid onto the car seat, shut the door, and started the engine. Off to face the shark.

  * * * *

  President Cox studied the only two men in his inner circle he actually trusted, hoping they finally had some good news. As was his habit, his chief of staff paced back and forth, wearing a path through the giant presidential seal on the area rug in the Oval Office. In contrast, his attorney general lounged on one of the gold couches. Not that Alan Vickers’ relaxed posture meant he wasn’t focused on their meeting. The man’s brain never shut down.

  Cox glanced from his legal advisor to his eyes and ears on the ground. “Surely one of you has learned something useful about those damned spoons by now. It’s been nearly a week since the news broke.”

  Mason Brower stopped abruptly in front of his desk. “I just got a call from my man on the film crew. He finally had information to share.”

  The president’s brows shot up. “You got someone reliable a job with the production team?”

  “Not exactly. There weren’t any positions open so I was forced to do a little snooping. Let’s just say the man we approached through an intermediary has some serious debt. He agreed to provide information for a large wad of cash.”

  “This won’t come back to bite us in the ass?” His tone was sharp.

  “Not a chance. We have him by the short hairs.”

  “Excellent. Let’s hear what my money’s buying?”

  Brower resumed pacing. “A woman approached Stone with a spoon but apparently hasn’t consented to be on the show. Not yet, anyway. If we act fast, we should be able to eliminate her before they ink any deals.”

  “Who is she?” Cox clenched his fists on top of his desk. “Where is she?”

  Vickers sat up straighter and opened the folder he’d brought to the meeting. “Boston. I pulled up everything I could find on Talia Davis. We have her address, an apartment in South End, but no place of employment, which I found odd. If necessary, I can call in a favor at the social security administration to see what we’re missing, but—”

  “I’d rather you didn’t involve them. Questions may be asked when this woman turns up dead. Get a professional to stake out her apartment and instruct the man to make the hit look like an accident. The less exposure this situation gets, the better.”

  “Fine. I don’t imagine taking her out will pose much of a challenge.” The attorney general rose to his feet and headed toward the door.

  Brower followed. “We’ll let you know once the job is done.”

  The president picked up a pen and twirled it. “One other thing. Tell your assassin to bring me that spoon. I want the whole collection in my possession before this is over.”

  * * * *

  “I had a conversation with the woman I know, the one who’s close to Stone. Turns out she’s a fan of yours.” Jill Erickson sounded downright cheerful.

  Dierdre stopped in the middle of the sidewalk on the Capitol Mall and clutched her cell phone a little tighter. In the distance, the usual crowds gathered on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, taking selfies. After a moment, she continued her brisk walk, heels clicking against the cement.

  “She agreed to pump Stone for information about those spoons?”

  “Better than that. She already had a few interesting nuggets, which I’ve since verified. A woman named Talia Davis recently took a trip to L.A. and spoke to Wyatt Stone about a spoon before returning home to Boston. Last night, he scheduled a flight into Logan International, arriving two days from now, apparently to seal the deal.”

  “Damn. That doesn’t give us much time.” Diedre shoved loose strands of hair behind her ear and scowled. “Can you move on this before he meets with her?”

  “I’ve been working on the situation. My cousin has a connection who will do the job and keep his mouth shut. I wanted your okay before I gave him this woman’s address.”

  “For Christ’s sake, give him whatever he needs. Find that damn spoon before Talia Davis hands it over to Stone. We need to interrupt his schedule and stall for time.”

  “My cousin’s associate will expect to be compensated for his services.”

  “Pay him whatever he wants. Just get the job done.”

  “Fine. I’ll put the plan into motion.”

  The senator stopped walking and gazed across the Reflecting Pool. “Jill?”

  “Yes?”

  “This woman won’t turn on me and blab everything she knows about our interest in Stone to some reporter, will she?”

  “Not a chance. She isn’t thrilled with her current work situation. I told her you have a connection who will give her career a big boost if she comes through for us. That was all she needed to hear.”

  “Do I?” Her grip on her cell tightened. “Have ties to a source who can help this woman?”

  Jill laughed softly. “Rounding up someone useful will be my next project.”

  Chapter Five

  Talia rested her bike on her shoulder and backed up against the wall as her neighbor appeared in the stairwell above her. “Evening, Eloise. You look spectacular.”

  The octogenarian fluffed her pale purple curls and flashed a wicked grin. “I have a date with Ansel from the drugstore. Since he’s a few years younger than me and has access to those little blue pills, I’m hoping he can keep up tonight.”

  “I doubt most fifty-year-olds could keep up with you.” Talia patted the woman’s boney shoulder beneath a leopard-print sweater as she squeezed by. “Don’t give the poor man a heart attack.”

  “Let’s hope not. Been there. Done that.” She grimaced. “The only up-side the first time, other than the fact the man made a full recovery, was the paramedics. They were real hotties.”

  Shaking her head, Talia continued up the stairs to the third-floor hall, set her bike down, and unhooked her key ring from her backpack. But when she touched the knob to her apartment door, it turned easily beneath her hand.

  A chill slid through her as her professional instincts kicked into high gear. Without a sound, she leaned her bike against the wall and pulled her compact Sig Sauer from the holster beneath her windbreaker. Edging the door open, she entered the apartment.

  The place was trashed. Clothes scattered everywhere. The contents of her kitchen drawers strewn across the floor. Couch cushions tossed, and papers from the desk trampled. A glance toward the open closet assured her no one was hiding inside. Stepping through the mess with her weapon extended, she gave the bathroom door a shove. It hit the wall with a smack. Empty, except for her toiletries, which had been dumped on the bathmat in a mess of broken jars and bottles.

  Holstering her firearm, she turned in a circle to assess the damage. Rage surged through her like a premature hot flash, and she swore beneath her breath. Whoever had tossed her home had kept the noise to a minimum. No broken dishes or thrown furniture to alert her neighbors. Nothing obvious was missing. Her laptop was currently in the daypack on her back, as was her wallet. Her TV still hung on the wall, and she didn’t keep cash in the apartment.

  Thank God she’d had her Sig with her at work and not locked in her desk. Kneeling beside the open drawer, she studied the busted lock. From the grooves dug in the splintered wood, it looked like the thief had inserted a crowbar and wrenched it open.

  Rising to her feet, she walked over to her bed. The box containing her old pictures and other memorabilia had been dumped upside down. She gathered the photos and tapped them into a neat pile with shaking hands as reaction set in.

  Bastard!

  She took a deep breath and let
it out slowly. On her dresser, her jewelry box stood open. The few necklaces and earrings she owned were still inside. None of the pieces contained valuable gems, but the gold alone made taking them seem like a no-brainer.

  Not a thief, then. What had the man—or woman—been after? Drugs?

  She almost smiled, imagining the intruder’s disappointment at finding nothing more exciting than ibuprofen and birth control pills.

  Talia rubbed her arms and shivered as a draft caressed her neck. Odd. Her hands stilled as her gaze shot to the window behind her desk that overlooked the street. Still firmly shut with the blind drawn halfway down, just the way she’d left it.

  After sliding off her pack and setting it on the floor, she headed toward the open door and paused on the threshold to take a look around. The doors of the other three apartments off the short hallway were closed, and only the faint drone of a TV tuned to what sounded like a baseball game came from the apartment across from hers. Grabbing her bike by the handlebars, she wheeled it inside as another draft of air touched her cheek.

  “What the hell?”

  Running footsteps pounded the floor behind her as she let go of her bike and spun around. A large man wearing a hoodie, dark glasses, and a bandanna tied around the lower half of his face clamped an arm around her neck and squeezed. Talia fought to breathe, struggling against his hold as spots darkened her vision.

  “Where is it? Huh?” He pushed the door shut with his foot, then grabbed a handful of her hair. The hard yank brought tears to her eyes—along with a shot of adrenaline. She jammed her elbow into his ribs and kicked hard, connecting with his shin and buckling his leg.

  “Bitch!”

  When his grasp loosened slightly, she gulped air into her lungs just before a hard fist connected with her jaw. Pain ricocheted through her skull, and she tasted blood as her teeth sank into her lip. Reaching blindly, she grabbed his ear and twisted.

  He shrieked and jerked back, stumbling into the couch.

  With a growl of triumph, she pulled free and brought her knee up with all her strength to nail him in the groin. The man collapsed on the floor, moaning and whimpering.