Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4)

by Jannine Gallant

  “Occasionally? Good one.”

  He dropped onto the chair next to her and rubbed his temples. “Now what do we do?”

  “Keep an eye on our suspects to see who makes any suspicious moves.”

  “Not so easy if the crew isn’t working. Which reminds me . . . do you still want to film your segment? I sure as hell don’t want to put you in any more danger, but—”

  “Perfect. If you’re filming, it’s guaranteed one or more of the suspects will put whoever’s bankrolling them on alert. This time, we’ll be prepared and vigilant. I want a shot at interrogating whoever comes after me, not another dead body.”

  “Sounds like you’re just asking for trouble.” His gaze held steady on hers. “I don’t like it.”

  “My work is all about facing trouble and conquering it.” She shrugged. “I can handle myself.”

  His eyes darkened to the color of an angry sea. “Are you always this cocky?”

  “Not cocky. But I am confident in my skills, despite the fact the last few situations went sideways.”

  “You won’t have your team to rescue you this time.”

  “I won’t need rescuing.” She deliberately changed the subject when he looked ready to protest some more. “We need to find a location to film where we have a maximum degree of control. No venue where random people might get caught in the line of fire. Did you have anyplace particular in mind?”

  He was quiet for a minute. “I’d rather not head straight back to the East Coast, but we need a venue pertinent to your story. Didn’t you live in the Bay Area when you were young?”

  “Yes, in Oakland. A small apartment in a sketchy neighborhood. People there might not bat an eye at gunshots, but that makes it a far from ideal location.”

  He frowned. “Other than your current ties to Boston, is there someplace else your family lived that you can suggest?”

  “After my dad was killed, we moved around quite a bit. Mom waited tables wherever the tips were decent. I know she wanted to go back to college to finish her degree, but she didn’t have the money. She also had me to support.” Talia clenched her fists on the table. “When Mom realized I wasn’t just smart, but was actually gifted when it came to technology, she worked her butt off to make sure I got the education she believed I deserved.”

  Wyatt reached over to cover one hand with his. “That’s the kind of story I want to tell my viewers. You obviously get your strength and perseverance from your mother. And maybe she inherited those qualities through a long line of strong women descending from Dolley Madison.”

  His comforting gesture eased some of her tension, and she unclenched her fist to twine her fingers through his. “Dolley was certainly full of fire and drive. I learned what I could about her after I discovered we might be related.”

  “Where did your great-grandmother, the one who gave your mom the spoon, live?”

  “In Sonoma County wine country. After she died, my grandparents, Henry and Marie Greer, took over the family vineyard she and my great-grandfather had built.” Talia made a face. “Somehow, I don’t think they’d be receptive to a granddaughter they never wanted to meet showing up with a film crew on their property.”

  “Are you sure about that? Sounds like an ideal location for the shoot. Isolated. Not many people around. Easy to spot intruders.”

  “Honestly, I don’t even know if they’re still alive. Or they could have sold the place and moved to senior housing. They’d be in their late seventies or early eighties by now.”

  He tapped her laptop. “I’m sure you could find out with a few keystrokes.”

  “Why the hell not?” Releasing his hand, she ran a search for Rousseau Winery and pulled up the website. “Hmm. It says the vineyard is still family owned, but a management company is in charge of operations. I guess you could call them and ask about filming on the property. They might appreciate the publicity they’d get from a show like No Stone Unturned.”

  “Everyone loves free advertising.” His eyes held a question as he met her gaze. “You’re sure you’re good with that?”

  “My mom used to tell me stories about playing in the rows of grapes when she was young, and she always had a smile on her face when she talked about the vineyard. I’d actually like to see the place where she grew up. My only concern is bringing trouble there with us.”

  “Gretchen, Rita’s assistant, will set everything up. I’ll have her request to film in an out of the way corner of the property that isn’t near any of the main buildings.”

  Talia scrolled through photos on the website and pointed. “Check out the hilltop gazebo. Very picturesque. Apparently, they rent it for weddings. Looks like there’s a view of the whole area from that vantage point, including a private home not open to the public. That must be where my great-grandparents lived when my mom was young.”

  “Your grandparents might still live there.”

  She shrugged. “If they do, I’m not going to go knocking on their door. They might be my flesh and blood, but they’re bigoted and unforgiving people. I’ve no interest in meeting them.”

  “It’s been years, Talia. Maybe their opinions have changed.”

  She let out a sigh. “In the last thirty plus years, they’ve never once tried to contact me. I did send a letter when my mom died. They didn’t respond.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” She closed her laptop and propped one elbow on the table. “I don’t want to talk about them, on camera or off. I’m happy to discuss my great-grandma and my parents during the interview. I’m proud of my mixed heritage, and maybe you can tie that back to James and Dolley Madison and the other founding fathers who owned slaves.”

  “You bet. We can make your story a fascinating and informative piece. As much as America idolizes the men who shaped this nation, those same men definitely had their dark sides, and the fact that most of them owned slaves isn’t discussed much. I’m happy to shed some light on the subject.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll call Gretchen, and I’m sure she’ll set a plan in motion with the vineyard’s management company first thing in the morning. Provided they agree and give us a date, she’ll notify the entire crew tomorrow.” He rubbed his thumb up and down the phone screen and frowned. “You’re sure this is a smart move?”

  “We can’t sit around doing nothing. We need to draw out the players in this shitty little drama and take control.”

  His chest rose and fell on a sigh. “I suppose so.”

  “I also want to track down the rest of the spoons before someone else finds them first. The other inheritors aren’t safe until we bust this situation open.”

  “Makes sense, but I’d hoped we could do something fun with Bree tomorrow.”

  The disappointment in his eyes softened her resolve. “I can justify a few hours off, especially if taking a break involves getting outside to exercise and clear my head.”

  “Excellent idea. Have you ever surfed?”

  “No, but I’m game to try.”

  “In that case, we’ll hit the beach for a few hours. I hope you packed a bathing suit.”

  “Is your only goal to see me in a bikini?” she teased.

  He laughed out loud. “Since you mentioned it . . .”

  “Call your producer.” She squeezed his arm and stood. “I’m going to shower and then get back to work. With a little luck, maybe I can locate another one of those spoons tonight.”

  “And here I was, thinking bed sounded awfully good right now.”

  His words, delivered in a provocative tone, heated her from the inside out. “Tempting, but I need to work, especially if I’m going to take time off tomorrow. Maybe this overwhelming sense of urgency is just me being an alarmist, but—”

  “No, I feel it too.” He rose and wrapped his arms around her. “Like there’s an ominous bank of clouds on the horizon getting ready to block out every bit of light.”

  “Exactly.” She stood on her toes and kissed him, a quick peck that deep
ened into a real kiss when he tugged her tight against him. Breathless, she finally drew back. “Hold that thought for later.”

  “I certainly will.”

  A shower refreshed her and eased the tiredness that had dulled her brain. Heading back to the living room and the corner of the couch she’d staked out as her own, she got comfortable and opened her laptop. When the front door opened a minute later, she glanced up.

  Wyatt shut the door behind Stella and gave her a long look. “Bree didn’t take her dog out earlier.” He walked farther into the room and stuck his hands in his pockets as Stella trotted down the hall. “Is there anything I can do? I feel useless.”

  “Not unless you’re proficient at deciphering genealogy records.”

  “I’m not an idiot. In case you’ve forgotten, I traced mine back to good old George.”

  After a moment, she nodded. “Okay. Go grab your laptop, and I’ll get you started.”

  He returned and settled on the opposite end of the couch. “Okay, who are we working on?”

  “Thomas Jefferson. You can trace his legitimate lines through the two daughters who survived into adulthood, Martha, who went by Polly, and Mary. Focus on Polly first since she actually outlived her father. I’ll work on his illegitimate children to see if he had strong ties to any of them around the time of his death.”

  “How many illegitimate kids did he have?”

  “Six.” She rolled her eyes. “Tom was a busy man.”

  “Wow. This could take forever.”

  “It could. Hopefully, we’ll be able to eliminate a lot of dead ends fairly quickly.” Once he logged into an ancestry search engine, she showed him how to trace each line from one generation to the next. “Got it?”

  He nodded. “Looks more complicated than backtracking, which is what I did.”

  “That’s because you knew you were looking for any line that led to a Founding Father. Unfortunately, we don’t know which of Jefferson’s progeny inherited his spoon, so we have to consider them all. When you get to his current heirs, make a note of what info you can find on each one, and I’ll dig deeper from there.”

  “Okay, I’m on it.”

  It was nearly one o’clock when Talia blinked weary eyes and stretched, ready to give up for the night. Beside her, Wyatt’s full attention was focused on his computer screen as he scrolled through an array of furniture, rugs, bedding, and dishes.

  “Doing a little online shopping?”

  “What? Uh, no.” He flicked his finger over the mouse. “I followed a hunch and . . .” He stiffened as a spoon appeared on the screen. “What do you know? I found it.” Turning, he grabbed her shoulders. “I freaking found Jefferson’s spoon!”

  “You’re kidding?” She slid closer to him, sitting thigh to thigh. “How? Where?”

  “It’s listed at an auction that’s happening next Friday in the D.C. suburbs.”

  “Unbelievable!”

  “As to how, I started with T.J.’s daughter, Polly, and traced the oldest son of the oldest son, whenever there was one, since they were pretty chauvinistic back in the good old days. What’s funny is I got sidetracked a couple of generations back by a human-interest story. That’s what led me to a notice of an estate sale that mentioned Thomas Jefferson memorabilia.” He shrugged and grinned. “I figured I had nothing to lose except time and searched through the sale catalogue.” He pointed at the screen. “Voilà! Success!”

  She studied the spoon. “It looks like ours, except this one has a lion on the handle.”

  “A lion is one of the seven symbols.”

  Her heart beat a little faster as she faced him. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you actually found it.”

  “Better yet. All we have to do is show up next weekend and bid on the damn thing, and it’ll be ours.”

  “You don’t want a story with the current owner for your show?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned. “We can put something together after the fact. Better a spoon in hand than—”

  “A bullet in the back?”

  “Exactly.” He blinked a couple of times. “Can we go to bed now? I’m beat.”

  “Damn right.” She shut her laptop and grabbed his hand to pull him to his feet. “I’m running on empty, too.”

  Wrapping his arms around her, he nuzzled her neck. “I could be persuaded to put off sleep for a few more minutes.”

  She couldn’t stop smiling as she leaned against him, letting his warmth surround her. “Only a few?”

  “As long as it takes.” His voice rumbled in her ear.

  Closing her eyes, she quivered as his lips traced a path down her throat. “I like the sound of that.”

  * * * *

  When his cell chimed, President Cox wiped the sweat out of his eyes and squinted at his secure phone propped against the treadmill’s controls. “About damn time.” Wheezing for breath, he punched the button to stop the machine and stepped off. He hated working out every stinking morning, but his doctor had told him he was likely to drop dead if he didn’t change his diet and start exercising.

  He wouldn’t give his VP the satisfaction.

  Which meant he had cut back on red meat and labored for the requisite thirty minutes every day, despising every second of it. This morning, however, he had a good excuse to stop early. After swabbing off the sweat, he read the text from his chief of staff a second time.

  Stone is filming Talia Davis’s segment in California wine country two days from now. What do you want me to do?

  Cox snorted. What the hell did Brower think he wanted him to do? He typed rapidly. Kill the bitch, or better yet, Stone.

  What about her spoon?

  He stared at the huge TV screen hanging on the wall in front of the treadmill, where talking heads described the hit the Stock Market had taken the previous week. His blood pressure soared just listening to them.

  If they’re filming, she’ll have the spoon with her. Make sure you find it this time.

  A response popped up a few seconds later. I’ll look for someone trustworthy to do the job.

  He swore loudly as he tapped furiously on the screen. Get your contact in production to search Stone’s house. At this point, he’s in so deep he can’t refuse. Hire a professional for the hit. He paused a moment before continuing. Don’t disappoint me again.

  A threat was implicit in the simple statement . . . and they both knew it.

  * * * *

  Senator Gamble stared at her advisor from across her cluttered desk. “We can’t let Stone wrap up another interview segment. What if the producer decides to simply go ahead and air the two shows they have and be done with it?”

  Jill frowned. “You think they would do that?”

  “They might. After the fiasco at Bedford House, they may give up the hunt for the rest of the spoons, go with what they have now, and reveal Washington’s executive order for the entire world to see. I can’t let that happen.”

  “I don’t know how we can stop them.” Jill pursed her lips into a tight line. “I knew you’d flip out when my source called to inform me about the vineyard shoot.”

  Deirdre gripped the edge of the desk so tightly, her knuckles turned white. “Have you seen my latest polling numbers? They’re sliding. I need to stage a big public production with my spoon and that document before Stone beats me to the punch.”

  “Then do it now.” Jill leaned closer. “Call a press conference and shock the world.”

  “I can’t, not with my numbers sliding. My opponents would describe it as a desperate attempt to save my campaign. I want to look strong, dammit, not weak.” She shook her head. “No, we need to play for time, and the only way to gain that is to make sure they don’t film Talia Davis’s segment.”

  “I don’t know, Dee. Our last attempt to interfere cost lives.”

  Seconds ticked by as she stared at her friend. “Not our fault. Have you had any luck learning who hired the shooter in New York?”

  “None. Whoever it was cove
red his or her tracks extremely well.”

  “Hell.” The senator closed her eyes for a moment. “I can’t worry about that problem right now. First, we have to do something to stop the filming. Hire someone to create a situation at the vineyard. Burn the place down or blow something up, whatever it takes to make sure they can’t move forward.”

  “And if they simply switch to a different venue?”

  She rose to her feet and turned to stare out the window at the traffic moving along Constitution Avenue. Nausea burned the back of her throat, but she swallowed it down, knowing it was too late to turn back now.

  “They can’t produce a show if they don’t have anyone to interview. Take care of Talia Davis.”

  Jill crossed the floor, her heels tapping. The door squeaked slightly when she opened it. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Paddling hard as the swell approached, Talia struggled to get her feet beneath her on the slippery surfboard. The wave hit her with the force of a charging elephant, and she went flying into the water. Holding her breath, she floundered to get her bearings before finally breaking the surface. She gasped for air and wiped her face, blinking fat, saltwater drops off her lashes.

  A short distance away, Wyatt sat astride his board, grinning. “I was beginning to wonder if there was anything you couldn’t do well.”

  “Very funny.” She hauled herself out of the water onto the board and let the gently lapping waves sooth her bruised ego. Lying on her stomach, she soaked in the warm rays of the sun. “Did I look completely ridiculous?”

  “Maybe a little uncoordinated.” He paddled closer and rested his palm on the center of her back. “But still sexy as all hell.”

  A smile curved her lips as her skin heated beneath his hand. “I suck at surfing.”

  “You aren’t going to be great after an hour. Doing anything well requires a lot of practice.”

  “That’s blatantly obvious.”

  She propped her chin on her hands and stared at him. He was well-worth looking at. His aqua colored eyes, nearly the same shade as the ocean, sparkled in his tanned face. But his good looks weren’t the sole focus of her attention. The man had some seriously ripped abs, shown off above navy swim trunks.