“So, your solution was to cut her off?” Derision edged her tone.
“She and her father exchanged some harsh words, and he wasn’t the forgiving sort. I never did have the gumption to buck Henry’s will.” She blinked a few times. “There’s a lot I regret. A lot I’ve prayed over during the last few decades. I’m happy that you seem to be thriving.”
“Mom made sure I had the means to get a decent job and provide for myself.”
“Just the same, if you ever need anything, all you have to do is ask.”
Talia gave a brief nod in response.
After a moment, Wyatt touched her arm. “We should head up to the gazebo and get ready for the interview. We’re running late.”
“Sure.” Her face was expressionless as she faced her grandmother. “I’ll leave my contact information with the winery manager. If you . . . well—”
“I appreciate that. Good-bye, Talia. I’ll be sure to watch the show when it airs.”
Talia didn’t answer, simply turned and walked away. With a last glance at the elderly woman, Wyatt followed her.
They were halfway up the hill before she finally spoke. “That was difficult. But why do I feel like the bad guy in this scenario?”
“You shouldn’t. Still, it’s hard not to sympathize with her when she looks so pathetic.”
The pulse throbbed at the side of her neck as she clamped her teeth together and stopped between the vines. The midday sun shone brightly, and the scent of ripe grapes hung thick and fragrant in the air.
“I kept picturing my mother coming home late from working a double shift at one of her restaurant jobs and stashing part of her tip money in a jar to save for my education. She killed herself trying to give me the opportunities that woman took away from her. It was all I could do not to tell her to go to hell.” She swiped angerly at damp cheeks. “But another part of me wanted to say something to take away the pain reflected in her eyes.”
He pulled her into his arms and rested his chin on her head. “Because you’re a kind and compassionate person. And maybe forgiveness is what your mother would have wanted. To put all the bitterness to rest.”
“Maybe, but I can’t think about that right now. Let’s get this interview over with.”
He released her after a quick, hard kiss and took her hand as they continued up the slope toward the gazebo. “What did Wolf have to say. I stopped listening when I saw your grandmother.”
“Not much. The team is flying back to Boston from Baha in about an hour, but he was able to reach one of his sources. Apparently, the asshole we turned over to the cops isn’t talking. He lawyered up fast. The D.C. police brought Jill Erickson in for questioning, and she admitted to buying the burner phone.” Talia let out a frustrated breath. “However, she claims it was stolen out of her car an hour later, and she has no idea who Ringo Stillman is. They had to cut her loose since they didn’t find the phone in her possession.”
Wyatt snorted. “She probably threw it in the Potomac.”
“Exactly. At any rate, at least we don’t have to worry about someone shooting at us during the interview.”
“Unless Erickson, or possibly the senator she works for, hired another hitman in the last twenty-four hours.”
“I doubt either of them would risk it. Besides, GQ is up on the roof of the winery to keep an eye out, just in case something unexpected goes down.”
“I appreciate his vigilance, but that’s quite a distance from here.”
“He can make the shot, and he’ll be listening in on a transceiver. If anything odd happens, GQ will be all over it.”
He wasn’t sure if the complete confidence in her voice was reassuring or annoying.
He didn’t have time to brood about it since the activity level was high around the gazebo where the crew prepped for filming. Rita Chen caught sight of them and hurried over. Dressed in one of her signature black suits with her hair drawn back in a tight bun, a ferocious scowl drew her brows together above dark eyes that glittered with temper.
“You’re twenty minutes late. I was about to send out a search party.”
Wyatt gave his producer a charming smile. “We spent a few minutes talking to Talia’s grandmother. We didn’t want to be rude.”
Some of the frostiness in her glare faded as she gripped his arm and pointed at one of the green director’s chairs they were using for the interview. “Sit. We need to make a few last-minute adjustments with you in position.” She snapped her fingers. “Gretchen, take Talia over to the tent to get her makeup fixed. Her nose is shiny.”
Talia kept her face expressionless. “Heavens, we can’t have that.”
As she strolled away with Rita’s long-suffering assistant, he dropped onto the chair and frowned. “Go easy on her. Talia doesn’t know a soft center hides inside that brusque exterior.”
“Soft, my ass.” Her eyes narrowed. “Anyway, she strikes me as a woman who can take care of herself.”
“True, but she’s had a rough couple of days.”
“Does that mean you intend to go alone to that auction to buy Jefferson’s spoon? Where did you say it’s taking place?”
“Alexandria.”
“I’ll have Gretchen make your hotel arrangements.” She waved as her assistant hurried toward them, flinging her long brown braid over her shoulder. “Maybe Kaitlyn would like to go with you. She knows her way around antiques.”
He cringed, just imagining how uncomfortable a cross-country flight with the woman he used to date would be. Their relationship hadn’t had time to settle into any official status. Unlike Talia and GQ, who had a serious history together. Spending the last two days with the man had been the epitome of awkward.
“Wyatt?” Rita clicked her fingers beneath his nose. “Should I talk to Kaitlyn about the trip?”
“Not necessary.” He ran a hand through his hair before quickly patting it back into place when she gave him a pointed stare. “Sorry. I’m not at my professional best after dealing with that moron yesterday morning. Honestly, I haven’t given a thought to what comes after today, but I’m sure Talia will want to go to the auction with me.”
“Joel, please adjust that bunch of grapes hanging over the arch.” Victor Tyson moved out from behind his camera to wave at the key grip before Rita could answer. “Tie them up higher. They look like they’re growing out of Wyatt’s head from this angle.”
“This is why we wanted you here twenty minutes ago.” Oren Lindquist breezed through the gazebo and squinted toward the sun overhead. “We need to start filming on schedule, or the natural lighting won’t be exactly the way I want it.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes behind the director’s back. “I’m confident you and Rita can pull everything together, despite my tardiness.”
Oren muttered something beneath his breath and waved to Talia as she approached. “You look stunning. Come take a seat so we can get your mic adjusted. We’re just about ready to do this.”
She slid onto the chair opposite Wyatt and smoothed her skirt. “Why am I nervous?”
“I don’t know. You shouldn’t be.” He shot her a quick smile. “Pretend we’re just hanging out, having a conversation. We’ve been over this, so you should be perfectly comfortable with all my questions.”
“I know, but I feel like the main attraction at the zoo, with all eyes on me.”
He cocked his head at an angle and studied her. “Maybe a panther or a leopard—sleek, beautiful, and dangerous.”
When she smiled, the tension seemed to drain out of her as she settled in her chair. “I could live with that. Thanks for trying to put me at ease. I’m not used to being in the spotlight.”
“Forget about the cameras and enjoy yourself. I intend to.”
Her eyes narrowed as she focused on a group of a dozen or more people headed in their direction. “That looks like a tour from the winery.”
“It is.” Rita broke off her conversation with the director. “They called me a while ago and said a guide was bringing up so
me visitors. Word got out we were filming, and everyone in the winery was ready to stampede up here.”
Talia’s eyes darkened as she scanned the rows of grapes around them. “If there’s any trouble—”
“Regrettably, the manager didn’t give me an opportunity to refuse.” Rita’s voice was edged with irritation. “She told me they were already on their way.”
“Keep those people out of camera range.” Oren pointed. “Joel, herd them over to that area. I don’t want any stragglers showing up in the background once we start filming.”
“Sure thing.”
After the key grip hurried off to intercept the tour guide, the director conferred with the head cameraman. “All right, folks. We’re ready to go. Places, people. And, action!”
Wyatt smiled at the camera. “Welcome to the second episode in our founding fathers series. I’m here today at the Rousseau Vineyards in Sonoma County, California with Talia Davis. Talia inherited James Madison’s spoon, and her story is fascinating.” He shifted his gaze. “Thanks for agreeing to talk with me today.”
“It’s a pleasure to be here. I’m a big fan of your show.”
Her face was composed and so beautiful his throat tightened just looking at her. He detected a hint of discomfort in the depths of her eyes but was certain viewers would only see a stunning woman who responded easily and eloquently to his questions as the interview progressed.
They were nearing the end of the piece when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. One of the tourists had moved away from the group, a dark-haired man, probably in his mid-thirties, wearing baggy shorts and a black T-shirt.
As he withdrew his hand from his pocket, Talia stopped speaking and launched straight out of her chair. Something whizzed past as she hit him with a solid impact that knocked them both to the ground.
Behind him, a shrill cry was followed by a thud.
She withdrew his Glock from her skirt pocket and rolled to the side. Before she could fire, a crack echoed in the distance. The man dropped, face-first on the ground.
“Shit.” Wyatt untangled himself from the chair as onlookers screamed and ran in all direction.
Oren shouted something through the mayhem he couldn’t quite hear. By the time he scrambled to his feet, Talia had reached the prone figure and kicked a revolver fitted with a silencer away from his outstretched hand. Bending, she pressed two fingers to his neck before straightening.
“Dead. You caught him full in the chest.”
Wyatt gave her a questioning look before realizing she was talking into a transceiver. No doubt updating GQ on his shot.
“Someone call 9-1-1. Victor’s been hit. Medic! Medic!” Oren’s voice rose. “Christ. There’s blood all over.”
The staff EMT ran toward the fallen cameraman and knelt beside him. “Looks like the bullet grazed his side. How’re you doing, Victor?”
“It burns like a mother. I’m not going to lie. At least I’ve got some padding, so the bullet only went through a layer of fat.” His words ended on a moan. “God damn, that hurts.”
Wyatt turned and walked over to where Talia was searching the dead man’s pockets.
“From the amount of swearing he’s doing, I think Victor’s going to be okay.”
The set expression tightening her lips relaxed slightly. “That’s a relief. The bullet must have nicked him when I knocked you over. Unfortunately, when you went down, he was in the line of fire.” She nudged the dead body with her foot. “Too bad this idiot won’t be answering any of my questions.”
Wyatt’s stomach churned. “If Victor was standing behind me, does that mean the shooter was aiming at me, not you?”
“That’s what it looked like when he pulled out his weapon. He was solely focused on you. My only goal was to make sure you didn’t take a bullet from close range.”
He let out a long breath. “Thank you.”
“Scared the crap out of me.” Her hand was shaking as she pushed back a strand of loose hair. “Tackling you seemed like the best option.”
“Putting yourself in danger in the process.”
Her brow crinkled as she gazed toward Victor. The EMT was wrapping gauze around his chest to hold a large bandage already stained pink in place beneath his arm.
“I feel horrible your cameraman got hit as a result of my actions.”
“I’m not too happy about it, either, but it wasn’t your fault, for God’s sake.” He stared down at the dead man. “This bastard was solely responsible. I wonder who he is.”
As sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer, Talia bent to lift his head and snapped a photo with her phone. Letting his chin hit the ground, she scowled. “No ID on him. I checked. Hopefully we can get a name from facial recognition and trace him back to Senator Gamble.”
“You think she’s behind this?”
“I don’t see why her advisor would act on her own, but without a motive, we can’t be certain. It seems obvious the ultimate goal is to make sure this series doesn’t air. Why she would resort to murder to stop you from filming is the real question.”
He turned to stare past the rows of grapes as a couple of police vehicles and an ambulance pulled up near the winery. “Here come the cops and the paramedics.”
Talia let out a long sigh. “We’re in for a long afternoon of explaining what happened to the authorities. GQ will take the brunt of it since he made the kill shot.” She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen.
“Who are you calling?”
“Wolf. He can smooth over this mess faster than I can. Normally, Counterstrike fades in and out of a situation without anyone knowing we were even there. Unfortunately, we don’t have that option today.”
“Too bad.”
She turned away as the cops swarmed up the hill toward them. “Wolf, it’s Luna. We have a body, and the local police are arriving on the scene now. The dead guy tried to shoot Wyatt. GQ nailed him, but a cameraman was injured. Can you—” She broke off and listened. “Thanks. I owe you.”
Wyatt laid a hand on her rigid shoulder. “Is he handling it?”
She nodded and leaned against him for a moment before straightening. “Let’s go talk to the cops.”
* * * *
Talia stood out of earshot a short distance away from the convertible, smiling at something GQ had said. She touched his arm briefly, and then stepped back.
A sky captain gave Wyatt a dirty look as cars were forced to pull around him at the busy drop off zone at the Sacramento airport. Finally, her teammate wheeled his bag into the terminal. She yanked open the car door and plopped down on the seat.
“Are you finished chatting up your ex?” He instantly regretted his snarky tone.
A wide smile appeared. “Yep. All done. We can hit the road now.”
He pulled out into traffic, cutting off a cabbie who laid on his horn. “Sorry. I guess I’m still on edge. Spending yesterday evening at the sheriff’s office wasn’t my idea of a relaxing way to unwind after getting shot at.”
“You could have ditched me and GQ once you gave them your statement.” She leaned back in her seat and stared straight ahead as they approached the ramp onto the freeway south to L.A. “Since you weren’t armed and didn’t shoot anyone, they weren’t hassling you.”
“Fair. But if you hadn’t stopped me, I would have punched that deputy after he body-slammed you to the ground once he realized you had a weapon.”
“Good thing I recognized the signs you were about to explode. Red face. Clenched fists. Glittering eyes.” She reached over and patted his knee. “I appreciated the thought, but it would have landed you in a cell, pending a court hearing. Anyway, the sheriff was quick to reprimand his man and apologize to me.”
“Too little, too late, in my opinion. Would that asshole deputy have knocked down a white woman?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But no matter how angry I am in situations like those, I’ve learned the best way to deal with prejudice is to stay calm.”
“Then you�
�re a whole lot more rational—not to mention smarter—than I am.” He glanced her way as he accelerated to cruising speed. “Now what?”
“Wolf is using his connections to tie up loose ends with the sheriff so I can focus all my attention on figuring out who hired that idiot.”
“You don’t think it was the same person Ringo Stillman was working for?”
“I worked on this earlier and haven’t been able to tie the dead thug to either Senator Gamble or Jill Erickson. There’s no money trail to follow.”
“Someone must have been paying both men.”
“Probably in offshore accounts. It may take me a while to find the concrete evidence we need to prove the senator is guilty, but I will.”
Her tone held more confidence than he was feeling. “Why? Why would a respected senator who has an outside shot to become the Democratic nominee for president try to stop me from exposing this story?”
“Good question.” Talia tucked strands of hair blowing around her face into the ponytail holder at the back of her head. “She must be connected in some way.”
“I wonder if she has a spoon. I still don’t get why—”
“Leverage.”
He turned to stare at her before returning his focus to the road. “What do you mean?”
“Say she has a spoon and was hoping to acquire multiple spoons if her hirelings stole some of the others. She could play up that angle in her campaign rhetoric. Revealing the document and presenting herself as the chosen heir of the founding fathers might be the boost she needs to come out ahead in the primaries and take her party’s nomination.”
“Then why not let me do the job for her?”
“It’s still early in the process. If your series airs this fall, it would be old news by the time the caucuses and primaries roll around next year. A more exciting story might push her talking point out of the spotlight.”
“Timing is everything. Is that what you’re thinking?”
“I’m just guessing. We could be way off track, but there’s one way to find out if we’re right.”
“How do we do that?”
Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4) Page 20