Which made getting up, dressing, and leaving temptation behind the smart choice. Without making a sound, she crawled out of the nest of covers, slid open the middle dresser drawer, and pulled out running shorts and a tank top. After dressing in the bathroom, she brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face, and examined her abrasions. The swelling was down, but her bruises had darkened. People would definitely stare. Not that she cared one hell of a lot what random strangers thought. After pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she stuck her phone in the pocket of her running shorts and tiptoed through the main room to ease open the door.
Wyatt stirred slightly just before she shut it with a soft click. Mission accomplished. A brisk run in the cool air would clear her head and discourage any morning cuddling. Because she was dead certain the man stretched out on her couch would wake up with a few R rated ideas, and she wasn’t sure she was up to resisting him.
Her cell rang just as she reached the lobby. On the off chance it was work and not Wyatt, she pulled it out and checked the screen. No such luck. Taking a deep breath, she swiped to connect. “Morning.”
“You ditched me before breakfast. I planned to serve you pancakes in bed.”
A smile curved her lips. “You can still cook. I should be back from my run in forty minutes or so.”
“Or I could go with you and make breakfast afterward. Unless you prefer to run alone.”
“No, I didn’t want to wake you. I’m still in the lobby. If you think you can keep up, I’ll wait for you outside.”
A rumbling laugh caressed her ear. “Challenge accepted. I’ll be down in five.”
“Be sure to lock up. My key is on the dresser.”
“Will do.”
She disconnected and returned her phone to her pocket, then left the building to stretch out. With one foot propped on the steps leading to the building, she leaned out over her leg, feeling her muscles loosen. Switching to her other side, she pressed downward until her forehead touched her knee.
“Damn, you’re limber.” Wyatt shut the door behind him and descended the steps.
Talia straightened. “That was quick.”
“I didn’t like the idea of you hanging out on the street alone after what happened. Ready to go?”
She nodded and set off down the sidewalk at her usual workout pace. “I don’t expect hoodie guy to attack me in broad daylight. Anyway, he knows I don’t have the spoon in my apartment, so there wouldn’t be much point in returning so soon.”
Wyatt glanced her way, concern in his eyes, as their shoes slapped the concrete in a steady rhythm. “You think he’ll try again?”
“I don’t know what to think since I’ve no idea what his motivation is. If he does make a second attempt, I intend to get some answers from the bastard.”
He didn’t respond, and they let the grim subject drop to focus on the beautiful morning. Gradually increasing their speed, they ran west through the Back Bay Fens. Wyatt easily kept pace with her, and she enjoyed his good-natured company and witty observations about the people they passed as the morning heated up.
He pointed to a tall blonde walking a pug and gesturing while she talked on her cell. “Wannabe partner at a prestigious law firm who has no clue how to relax. Even her dog looks like he has an agenda.”
“Interesting, but I think the pug’s only goal is to pee on everything in sight.”
He grinned. “You may be right about the dog, but I pegged the woman.”
“Okay, smart guy.” They left the Fens to head back, and she gestured across the street. “See the man getting into the Uber? What’s his story?”
“He borrowed the too-tight suit for a job interview. The poor guy is nervous as hell and lacks confidence. No way is he getting the position.”
She tugged her top loose where it stuck to her damp skin and shot him an incredulous look. “Wow. With that imagination, you should have been a writer instead of the on-air talent.”
“I’m a student of human nature. I bet I’m right about people most of the time.”
“What do you think someone watching us would see? A wife-beater and his down-trodden victim?”
“No way. Despite the bruises, you don’t have the body language of a victim.” He gave her an up and down perusal. “You’re all business all the time. And watchful. Always taking careful note of your surroundings. Based on appearance and mannerisms alone, I’d guess you were a cop.”
“A fairly accurate assessment.” She flashed a grin. “I hope you’re wrong, though, and the poor guy in the Uber gets the job.”
They’d run six miles and were nearing her apartment when her cell rang. Before she could pull it from her pocket, the side door of a white van parked at the curb slid open. A man wearing a ski mask lunged out of the vehicle and grabbed her arms in a bruising grip. Talia lashed out with her feet, kicking futilely as he hauled her through the open door. He tossed her onto the metal floor, the impact sending pain ricocheted through her body as her head connected with a sickening thud.
Wyatt’s voice shouting her name pulled her out of her stupor. She blinked and focused on his face. Anger. Fear. Panic. Emotions flashed through his eyes as he fought like a man possessed. Clinging to the doorframe with one hand, he swung at the brute with the other. The sound of flesh connecting with bone assaulted her, and droplets of blood sprayed her face. With a low growl, the larger man kicked Wyatt, sending him sprawling onto the sidewalk. The door slammed shut, and tires squealed.
The oaf planted one knee on her chest, holding her immobile as blood dripped from his nose onto her neck.
“Bastard!” Talia squirmed beneath him but couldn’t move an inch as he wrapped zip-ties around her wrists and yanked until they bit into her flesh. Turning, he restrained her ankles, jerked her upright, then lashed her to a metal bar on the side of the van. Her arms bent at a painful angle.
“What the hell do you want with me?”
The big man’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his mask. “We want that spoon. It wasn’t in your apartment. Where’d you put it.”
“What spoon?”
“Don’t play stupid, bitch. You know very well what we’re after.”
The driver made a sharp right turn, and she smacked her head against the side of the van. Spots appeared before her eyes, and she fought to stay conscious.
“If I tell you, will you turn me loose?” Her words came out slightly slurred. “A family heirloom isn’t worth my life.”
He blinked a couple of times and nodded. “Sure. We’ll let you go.”
He was lying—and not very convincingly. Her brain struggled to form a plan.
“A friend of mine took the spoon. He offered to have his housekeeper clean it for me since I did a crappy job of getting the tarnish off.”
“I don’t believe you.” His tone was emphatic but held a hint of doubt.
She pushed her advantage. “I don’t care if you believe me. It’s the truth.”
The van made another quick turn before accelerating onto the expressway. She couldn’t see anything beyond the back of the driver’s head but guessed they’d gotten onto I93 headed south, driving in the opposite direction of the rush hour commute into the city.
“Who’d you give it to?”
Did Wyatt get the van’s license plate number and call 9-1-1? Surely the cops are already looking for me. Her head throbbed as she mulled her options. She’d set the bait, but she wouldn’t spring the trap. Not yet. Not if she could save herself without risking Wolf’s cover. The team would find her.
But only if they know I’m missing.
“I can call—”
“Hell, no!” The sour scent of body odor assaulted her as he squatted beside her and stuck his hand in the pocket of her shorts to pull out her phone. “I’ll take this.”
He was slow to move away, and heat flared in his eyes behind the mask. For the first time since he’d grabbed her, a spark of fear ignited. Before it could take hold, the driver exited the freeway and slowed before stopping a
t what she assumed was a red light.
The big man backed away and stood. “What’s our ETA?”
“A few more minutes if I make the next light.” The driver glanced into the rearview mirror. “I can’t wait to get the van off the street. You know the dude who was with her must have called the cops by now.”
“I should have shot him, but I was more concerned with securing the woman.” The bastard’s tone was conversational. “That’s what we’re being paid for, after all. Not extracurricular hits.”
A chill shivered through her as she stared at her captor. Definitely not the punk from her apartment. This man was older. And the driver’s voice was different. More guttural. Had the person paying them sent out a more experienced team after the first man failed?
“We’ll contact your friend who has the spoon once we get to the house.”
His sharply spoken words interrupted her speculations as he moved forward to stand behind the passenger seat. A minute later, the vehicle slowed and pulled off the street. Talia caught a glimpse of a pale blue house as the driver turned in behind the building. He braked to a stop and cut the engine.
“Home sweet home. For now. Throw a tarp over the van once I get her into the house.”
“No kidding.” A door opened. “I’m not stupid.”
“Debatable.” Her captor bent to loosen her bindings. When she was free, he yanked her to her feet. “Let’s go inside and have a chat, shall we?” He leaned in close, his breath fanning her cheeks. “Once you tell me what I want to know . . . well, your fate will depend on how accommodating you are.”
She reared back and jerked against his vice-like hold. “Touch me, and I’ll kill you.”
“Honey, you shouldn’t make threats you can’t keep.”
Talia pressed her lips together as he slid open the door and hauled her out of the van. Her threat hadn’t been an idle one. This leering bastard with the bruising grip wouldn’t live to see tomorrow.
* * * *
Wyatt repeated the license number under his breath as he took the stairs to Talia’s apartment two at a time. Adrenaline pumping, his hand shook as he pulled out her key and froze. The door was slightly ajar, not locked the way he’d left it. Giving it a push, he stepped inside and drew in a breath. For the second time in as many days, Talia’s home had been trashed.
He couldn’t think about that now. Getting help was all that mattered.
He’d left his phone on the coffee table in his rush to get downstairs, but it wasn’t there now. He was on his hands and knees, searching beneath the upended couch cushions when a board squeaked behind him.
“Freeze, creep, or I’ll clobber you.”
Wyatt slowly turned. An older woman in a pink kimono held a cast iron frying pan like a baseball bat aimed at his head. Her direct blue gaze held determination and a touch of fear.
He raised both hands. “I didn’t break in here. Talia’s my friend.”
“Sure, she is.” Her lavender curls quivered as she hefted the pan even higher.
“I need to call the police. Some maniac grabbed her off the street a couple of minutes ago.” When he pushed to his feet, she backed up a step. “Look, I don’t want to hurt you, but every minute counts.”
“I already contacted the detective who interviewed us last night. He should be here any minute.”
When a siren sounded in the distance, growing closer, Wyatt glanced toward the street. “Thank God.” His knees weakened, and he gripped the back of the couch. “I won’t have to waste time explaining.”
A frown furrowed the woman’s wrinkled brow. “You look familiar.”
“You’ve probably seen me on TV.” Turning his back on her, he walked over to the window and raised the blind all the way up as the siren shut off below. A brown sedan parked curbside where the van had been, cutting off an SUV in the process. A man dressed in a navy blazer stepped out of the car and hurried toward the building.
“Good heavens, you’re Wyatt Stone.”
He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Are you one of Talia’s neighbor’s?”
“Yes. Eloise Johnson.” She lowered the frying pan. “I love your show.”
Footsteps pounded the stairs, and the detective appeared in the doorway with his weapon drawn. His gaze darted from Wyatt to Talia’s neighbor and back.
“Sir, step away from the window and keep your hands where I can see them. Ma’am, I’ll need you to drop that frying pan.”
It hit the floor with a clang as Wyatt raised his hands into the air. “I was running with Talia when some asshole grabbed her and shoved her into a van. I tried to stop him, but—”
“Did you get the license?”
He rattled off the number. “It was a Massachusetts plate. The van was white, a Chevy, I think. Older. No markings on the panels.”
The cop pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket while keeping his weapon trained on Wyatt, and made a call. He repeated the information about the van. “Put out a BOLO on the vehicle and send backup to this location, along with a CSI team. There’s been an apparent abduction in addition to the break-in. I’ll also need any patrol units in the vicinity to knock on doors and question residents.” After sliding his phone back into his pocket, he glanced over at Eloise. “Mrs. Johnson, do you know this man?”
“He’s Wyatt Stone from that TV show, No Stone Unturned. I thought maybe he was the derelict who broke into Talia’s apartment when I first saw him, but he says he knows her.” Eloise’s voice cracked. “You have to find her, Detective Brasher. She’s the kindest young woman, always offering me a helping hand. I can’t believe—”
“Every cop in the city will be looking for that van.” He switched his full attention to Wyatt and lowered his weapon. “I’ll need to see some ID, sir. What’s your connection to Ms. Davis?”
“Uh, my wallet is in my bag. Or at least it was when I left to go running. I’m not sure where the bag is now.” He lowered his hands and glanced around the room before pointing. “There, near the foot of the bed.”
“Get it for me, please. Toss the bag over here.”
Wyatt did as he was told. Obviously, the detective wasn’t the trusting sort.
Brasher opened the bag and sorted through the messy contents, which had apparently already been searched. Finally, he pulled out a wallet and studied the driver’s license. “Wyatt Stone from Santa Monica.”
“That’s me. I have a show on the history channel, and I was here to talk Talia into appearing on an upcoming episode.”
Finally, the man holstered his weapon. “About her association with Counterstrike?”
“Is that the company she works for? She mentioned . . .” He stopped speaking and took a breath. “No, this is in a completely different context. Look, I’m worried sick about her. Isn’t there anything else you can do to find her?”
“Not without more information.” The cop’s eyes hardened. “You seem pretty well-informed about Luna . . . uh, Ms. Davis’s current circumstances. Do you know who abducted her?”
“I don’t have a clue. I assume the same person who broke in last night, but I don’t know why he’d search this place twice when he knows the spoon isn’t here.”
“Spoon?” The detective’s brows shot up. Before he could continue, footsteps sounded in the hall, and two uniformed officers appeared in the doorway. “I have plenty of questions for you, Stone. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
When Brasher stepped outside to bark instructions at the reinforcements, Wyatt moved closer to Eloise. “I don’t know where my phone is in this mess, but I want to try to call Talia.”
She pulled her cell from the pocket of her Kimono and tapped in her access code before bringing up Talia’s contact info. “I called her right after I found her apartment trashed, but it went to voicemail. That’s when I got scared and called the number on the business card the detective gave me last night.”
“What’s this number?” Wyatt pointed at a second listing beneath Talia’s cell phone number.
“It’s her work phone. She gave it to me as a backup when I couldn’t reach her one time. The pipes in the apartment above us were leaking and—”
“At Counterstrike?” He cut her off.
“I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about her job.”
“Can I?”
Eloise handed him her phone, and he tapped the number to connect. A man’s voice answered on the first ring.
“This is Wolf.”
“I’m calling about Talia Davis. Does she work—”
“Is there a problem?” He spoke sharply.
“Someone grabbed Talia outside her apartment. The police are here now, but she mentioned her team finds people who’ve been abducted. I hoped—”
“Who’s this?”
“Wyatt Stone, a, uh, friend of hers. I’m at her apartment.” His gaze flashed to the doorway as Brasher returned with the CSI unit following him. “Can you help her?”
“Luna’s mentioned you. I’m on my way.”
The call disconnected, and he handed the phone back to Eloise as the detective approached, his face drawn into tight lines.
“Who’d you just call?”
“Talia’s work number. A man named Wolf.”
Brasher let out what sounded like a frustrated breath. “Saves me the trouble, I suppose. Much as I hate to admit it, Counterstrike will probably locate her before we can.”
Wyatt clenched his hands into fists. “I don’t care who finds her. I just want her back here safely.”
“We all do.” The detective gestured toward the door. “While the CSI team does their job, can we use your apartment again, Mrs. Johnson? I need to get statements from both of you.”
“Well, of course.” Eloise led the way to the apartment next door. “Can I get you gentlemen a cup of coffee?”
“That would be great.” Brasher pointed toward a pink couch. “Have a seat, Mr. Stone. I’d like to hear exactly what happened this morning and your connection to Ms. Davis.”
Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4) Page 9