“If that moron the cops arrested shoots off his mouth, I have no intention of saving your ass, Mason.” His voice cracked like a whip. “Incompetent fool.” He wasn’t sure if he was referring to the hireling who’d bungled the abduction of Talia Davis or his supposed righthand man.
“Mick isn’t talking since he doesn’t know shit. And Hudson is dead, so he won’t be giving up any relevant information.”
“Thank God for small favors. I can’t believe a simple task like retrieving a few dammed spoons is turning into such a fiasco.” He glared at a reporter who’d dared to inch closer, and the man scurried backward. “Did you get any answers from your inside guy working at No Stone Unturned?”
Brower stopped at the bottom of the boarding stairs. “I just got off the phone with him. The crew is on standby, waiting for word from Stone. He’s headed to Katonah, New York today in search of John Jay’s spoon. Once he verifies it’s at the Bedford house and gets permission to film, the crew will make immediate arrangements to join him there. The producer doesn’t want to waste any time.”
“Then you’d better get someone to New York damned fast. I expect to hear that you have Jay’s spoon in your possession by the time I land in Riyad.”
“I’m already working on it. If I have to fly up there myself, I will.”
“Shit. The last thing I need is you personally involved if something else goes wrong. Just hire someone competent who’ll keep his mouth shut.”
Brower nodded. “I’ll make sure we get the results you want this time.”
Cox’s lips tightened, and his tread was heavy on each step as he boarded the plane. Heads would roll if there were any more screwups.
* * * *
Talia closed her laptop and zipped it into its case. “We made good time.”
Wyatt pulled the key from the ignition and turned to face her. “Yes. Are you ready to do this?”
She gave him a long, thoughtful look before opening the glove box to pull out her Sig. “You bet. If any scenario plays out that we didn’t discuss on the drive, just follow my lead. I want to verify the spoon is in the house before we express any interest in it to the staff. At this point, God knows who else might be snooping around.”
He eyed her weapon. “I certainly hope you don’t need to use that.”
“I hope I don’t, either, but after what happened yesterday, I’m not going anywhere unarmed.”
His lips quirked upward in a hint of a smile. “You’re a bad ass, Talia.”
“If I wasn’t, I’d be dead by now.” She released her seatbelt, stuck her firearm in its holster beneath her jacket, and reached for the door handle. “Let’s go. The last tour will be starting soon.”
They left the parking lot and walked across the broad, green lawn in front of the historic colonial home. After handing over the tickets they’d purchased online, they took the offered pamphlets and joined the group of tourists in the foyer waiting for the tour to start. Their guide spoke to a family of four, her tone animated as she gestured toward the bookcase against the gold-papered wall.
When a pair of middle-aged women started whispering and staring, Talia nudged Wyatt. “Told you it wouldn’t take long.” She kept her voice low. “Keep the guide engaged once she figures out who you are, and I’ll slip away to do a little scouting.”
“Got it.” He made eye-contact with the two women, and after a whispered conference, they approached.
“Has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like Wyatt Stone?” The spokeswoman for the pair’s blue eyes were wide as she smoothed her flowered skirt.
“A time or two.” His smile stretched. “Probably because I am Wyatt Stone.”
“Oh, my goodness. You’re even more handsome in person.” The second lady pushed forward and held out her hand. “I’m Martha Standish. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m definitely your biggest fan”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Martha.”
By the time the first woman introduced herself and shook his hand, most of the group had crowded closer. An elderly couple whipped off matching floppy-brimmed hats and requested autographs.
Their guide hurried over to insert herself between Wyatt and the other guests. “I didn’t realize we had a celebrity in our midst. No one notified me.”
Talia didn’t hear his response as she slipped down the hallway. When she reached the dining room, movement in the corner of the alcove caught her eye. She froze for several long heartbeats, but the person who had disappeared through the back passage didn’t return. Finally, she crossed the carpet to scan the table set with china and a vase filled with flowers. No spoon.
With a quick glance over her shoulder as voices sounded in the distance, she hurried to the antique buffet in the alcove and pulled open each drawer to search through odds and ends of cutlery. Her frustration grew as she slid the final drawer shut. “Damn. I was so sure . . .”
Taking the passageway through the butler’s pantry, Talia peeked into the kitchen. A dark-haired woman wearing black pants and a maroon shirt stooped to rummage through a cupboard. When the tour guide’s voice grew louder somewhere down the hall, she straightened and darted out the door.
Talia frowned and retreated to the dining room. Whoever the woman was, she hadn’t acted like an employee who belonged in the house. She’d acted more like—
“Me.” The word hissed between her lips. She added a muttered curse as she left the dining room and hurried down the hall toward the front parlor, away from the tour group.
The formal room was hung with family portraits, including a magnificent painting of John Jay, and set up to resemble a high tea. Talia’s gaze shot straight to the small table in front of the fireplace. Beside a sugar bowl in the center of the table lay a silver spoon.
“Yes!” She ran across the room and picked up the delicately engraved spoon. Other than the rose on the handle instead of a harp, it was an exact match to hers.
“I’ll take that.”
She turned quickly, the spoon clutched in her hand. The woman from the kitchen stood just inside the doorway, holding a short-barreled pistol pointed straight at her.
“I’d prefer not to shoot you and make a scene, but I will if you don’t hand over that spoon immediately. Your choice.”
Talia judged her chances of drawing the Sig from beneath her loose jacket before her cold-eyed adversary squeezed the trigger. Not good. Since she didn’t have a death wish, she approached slowly. The woman snatched the spoon from her fingers and backed out of the doorway. The second the staccato tap of her footsteps faded down the hallway, Talia sprinted after her. Just as she rounded the corner, the exterior door beside the office at the west end of the building smacked against the wall.
Putting on a burst of speed, she ran out onto the porch and paused at the railing. The woman had reached the yard where a family was snapping pictures in front of the house. Taking the steps two at a time, Talia ran after her quarry, gaining ground as the woman ran through the row of linden trees. Moments later, she dashed out onto the open lawn.
Piffft.
Talia dived for cover behind a shrub as the muffled shot hit its target. The woman lurched forward and dropped onto the grass. Drawing her own weapon, she scanned the area for the shooter. Movement in the trees to her right caught her eye, and she took a cautious peek from behind her skimpy cover.
Piffft.
The leaves beside her rustled as a bullet whizzed past and thwacked into a tree trunk a foot from her head. She dropped flat to the ground.
Piffft.
Dirt spurted as the bullet dug into the turf inches to her left.
Screams followed by running footsteps erupted behind her. Wyatt shouted her name as she took aim when the shooter broke cover and sprinted toward the fallen woman. Her shot echoed in the humid afternoon air, only slightly muted by the commotion coming from the house. The man went down a few yards from the woman and lay still.
“Stay back!” She scrambled to her feet and approached the two fig
ures with her weapon extended. After kicking the woman’s revolver away, she bent to place two fingers on her neck.
Nothing.
Sirens wailed in the distance as she kept her attention focused on the male sprawled on the grass and cautiously drew closer. He lay stretched out on his stomach with blood pooling at his side. When she prodded him with her foot, he rolled over. His face twisted in a grimace of pure hate as he raised a shaking hand and fired his weapon.
Pain burned her left arm just as she squeezed her trigger. The Glock fell from his limp grasp, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Giving the weapon a hard kick, she clutched her upper arm where warm blood seeped between her fingers. Running footsteps registered vaguely as her knees weakened and she dropped to the ground.
“Jesus, Talia.” Wyatt crouched beside her and pulled her against his chest. “He freaking shot you.”
The roaring in her ears receded, and she leaned against him, thankful he was there to have her back when the world was spinning around her. “I’m okay.” She released a hissing breath. “It’s just a flesh wound, but it stings like a mother.”
“Asshole.” He practically spat the word.
“I found the spoon, but the woman took it.” She raised her voice to be heard over the sirens as two sheriff’s vehicles and an ambulance roared up the driveway. “I was gaining on her when that bastard shot her and tried to kill me.”
“He was after the spoon?”
“I assume so. Too bad neither of them will be answering questions.” She stretched her arm out as far as she could to lay her weapon on the grass and then looked up into his worried eyes. “Can you do me a favor?”
His grip on her tightened. “Anything.”
“Call Wolf and see if he can help straighten out this cluster.”
“Of course, but you can call him yourself once the paramedics treat that wound.”
Gripping his arm, she pushed to her feet. Car doors slammed as she held her hands out to her sides and swayed slightly. “I’ll be locked up long before I have a chance to talk to him.”
“But you didn’t do—”
“I killed a man.” She met his gaze as his face lost most of its color. “Even if it was self-defense, it’ll take forever for the cops to sort out the sequence of events. Just call him. He has connections who can make this a whole lot easier.”
Wyatt nodded as a sheriff and two deputies ran toward them with weapons drawn.
“Back away from me, Wyatt.” The smile she tried to give him turned into a grimace when pain shot through her raised arm. “This is about to get ugly.”
* * * *
A buzzer sounded, followed by a click as the door leading to the rear of the sheriff’s office swung open. Talia emerged, her posture ramrod straight and a spark of defiance in her eyes. But her complexion, which usually reminded Wyatt of warm caramel, had an underlying pallor, and her lips were drawn into a vulnerable line.
“You waited for me.”
He strode across the lobby and took her cold hand in his. “Hell yes, I waited. What else would I do? Can we get out of here now?”
She nodded. “Sorry. I’m not at my best. Wolf must have finally gotten through to someone important because a guy from the nearest FBI branch office showed up and spoke to the sheriff. After that, they couldn’t turn me loose fast enough.”
He held the outer door open for her, and the evening breeze flapped the ripped sleeve of her jacket. A square bandage showed beneath it. “You sure it was Wolf? Didn’t you tell me you used to work for the Bureau?”
“Yes, but I didn’t have any pull. I was just a minor cog in their giant intelligence gathering machine.” Her fingers tightened on his as she walked beside him across the parking lot. “The sheriff told me they’re holding my weapon as evidence. They’re keeping the spoon, too, at least for now.”
“Somehow I doubt the John Jay Foundation will authorize filming, anyway, not after they ended up with two dead bodies on their property.” When they reached the rental car, he hit the remote to pop the locks.
She paused beside the passenger door to give him a smile heavily tinged with irony. “You never know. A shoot out on their front lawn will probably draw in hordes of tourists. History lovers always appreciate a good blood bath.”
“You’re probably right.” He opened the door for her. “Get in. You look wiped out.”
“I am.” She slid onto the seat and waited until he climbed in on the other side. “Where’re we going?”
“I guess a motel for the night while we figure out what to do next.” He turned on the engine and shifted to face her. “Unless you want to go straight back to Boston and never see me again.”
“Now why would I want to do that? I barely lost any skin at all today. Besides, I don’t let a little detail like getting shot deter me when I’m on a mission.”
He cupped her chin in his palm and bent to kiss her. Her lips were soft beneath his, but he didn’t linger. “I’m sorry, Talia. I don’t know what else to say.”
“This situation isn’t your fault. You may have stirred the pot, but there are people involved with a whole lot of power and money.” Her tone hardened. “And we’re going to take them all down.”
“How? We have no clue who hired the two who showed up here today, and I’m guessing the cops don’t know shit.” He put the car in gear and pulled out of the lot onto the street. “What makes you think whoever is behind this vendetta has wealth and influence?”
“Because the minute we figured out where we were going, they seemed to know, too. Whoever the mastermind is was able to have people on the ground almost immediately to intercede. It makes me wonder how they’re so well-informed.”
Her tone held a note of censor that made the hair stand up on his arms. “What are you suggesting?”
“I don’t know, exactly.” She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. “But once I take a shower and pop some ibuprofen, I want to figure out who’s leaking information.”
“You think I told someone, is that it?” With an effort, he kept his tone even.
“You told several people.”
“Like my producer and my daughter.” His temples throbbed. “You think Bree ratted us out?”
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Wyatt.”
He spotted a bed and breakfast set back from the street with several large shade trees in the front yard. Without bothering to consult her, he turned into the driveway and parked in the lot to the side of the house.
“Sure sounded like it.”
Her lips tightened. “Let’s go get settled and then have a rational discussion.”
Taking a moment to get his anger under control, he nodded. After yanking their overnight bags from the trunk, he followed her up the brick walkway to the porch and paused while she pushed open the door. Warmth and the scent of cinnamon greeted them.
A teenage girl with auburn hair and freckles sat behind the desk. She glanced up from her cell phone when they entered the lobby and produced a less than enthusiastic smile. “Welcome to Three Trees Inn. Do you have a reservation?”
“I’m afraid not.” Wyatt approached the desk and set their bags on the floor. “We’re hoping you have a room available.”
She tapped a few buttons on the computer screen. “Lucky for you, we had a cancellation. Will a king bed do?”
He glanced back at Talia, and she gave a quick nod. Pulling out his credit card, he handed it to the girl. “That works for us.”
“One twenty-five a night plus tax. Breakfast is served in the dining room between seven and ten. Quiet hours are strictly enforced.” She rattled off the information in a bored voice while she ran his card. “Check out is at eleven.”
“Sounds good.” He signed the form she handed him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I put you in the blue room, second floor at the far end of the hall on the right. Here are your key cards.”
He took the folder from her. “Is there a
good restaurant nearby that delivers?”
“Just pizza, but Santoro’s is excellent.”
“I appreciate the tip. Have a good night.”
Talia grabbed her bag and led the way up the stairs. He followed, their footsteps echoing on each wooden tread. On the second floor, they found their room, and he pushed the card into the slot. When the mechanism clicked, he opened the door.
“Nice.” Talia set her suitcase beside the bed, walked to the window, and plopped down on the built-in seat padded with cushions and decorative pillows. “Comfy. If our discussion escalates into a fight, I can sleep here.”
Despite his irritation, he couldn’t help grinning. He dropped his bag on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you anticipate an actual brawl or just a little verbal sparring?”
“Since I wouldn’t want to hurt you, we won’t get physical.”
“Funny.” He pulled open the nightstand drawer and flipped through a few pamphlets. “Here we go. Santoro’s. Let’s order a pizza before we do anything else, physical or not. I’m starving.”
“Chicken and artichoke hearts?” Her tone was hopeful.
“Interesting choice. How about tomatoes for a third topping since you’re obviously shooting for healthy?”
When she gave him a thumbs up, he called the number on the flyer to place their order. “Thirty minutes.” He set his phone on the bed. “Now would you like to explain your earlier comment about me blabbing our plans to the whole world?”
She crossed her legs under her and leaned back against the pillows. “Not the whole world, but you did call your producer.”
“You think Rita sent someone to steal that spoon?” He snorted. “Not likely. All Rita cares about is the show, and she expects stellar ratings. That nightmare today outside Bedford House will have the exact opposite effect since filming there seems highly unlikely now. At the rate this situation is escalating, we may have to scrap the entire project.”
“I’d bet stopping production would make someone—or maybe multiple people—ecstatic. Keeping these spoons and the story behind them out of the limelight seems to be the ultimate goal. So, maybe your producer is innocent, but someone sure as hell is guilty.”
Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4) Page 13