“I don’t know. A woman for sure, since Jill referred to her source using feminine pronouns, but there was no communication with her on the email account. My guess is she exclusively contacted her using another burner phone.”
“Damn.” He let out a heavy sigh. “How do you see this playing out? Deirdre Gamble and Jill Erickson doing prison time for their crimes?”
“In a perfect world, yes. But I’m beginning to wonder if dragging this story through the media is the smart thing to do, even though I’m pissed as hell and know they both deserve to be punished.” She turned in her chair to face him. “If the senator goes down in flames, it’ll overshadow the whole election process and possibly change the outcome.”
“You want her to get away with trying to kill us?” His brows shot up. “Seriously?”
“Actually, Gamble didn’t authorize murder. Her hirelings were after the spoons and only wanted to shut down production of your show. It’s the mystery asshole who was trying to kill us.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better since he’s still out there plotting our demise. However, I’m listening. What do you have in mind?”
“We’ll tell Gamble to drop out of the presidential race and resign her senate seat, effective immediately, or we go to the press. I’ll make it clear if she or her advisor ever work in politics again, we’ll turn our evidence over to every news outlet in the country and the police.”
“You think she’ll agree to that?”
“Yeah, I do. She isn’t going to risk a prison sentence in addition to destroying her public image. She’ll realize the game is over, especially with Senator Grant at the meeting to back us up.”
“Can I get something out of this deal?”
Her eyes widened. “Like what?”
“An interview for the show. She can produce her spoon and announce her retirement from public life, for whatever reason she wants to give, on No Stone Unturned.”
Talia grinned. “Talk about poetic justice. I love it!”
“Plus, I want to know who betrayed me.”
“Absolutely.” Talia glanced at the time on her screen. “It’s nearly six-thirty. Wolf will be awake. I’ll call him and set this plan in motion.”
“I’ll go shower.” He leaned over and kissed her in a way that put an unmistakable glitter in his eyes. “Unless . . .” He nodded toward the bed.
“No time. Not if you want breakfast.” Her blood heated as he ran a finger down her arm. “So, stop tempting me.”
“Okay.” He kissed her again. “Maybe later.”
Her gaze followed his bare back and lean hips clad in nothing but a pair of boxers as he disappeared into the bathroom. After a moment, she reached for her cell and called Wolf.
Two hours later, they parked in the roughly mown field near the estate on the outskirts of Alexandria where the auction was just getting underway. After signing in and showing his ID, Wyatt received a bidding number affixed to a paddle. They strolled through the crowd of people looking at box lots and found a shady spot beneath a large oak where they had a decent view of the grounds.
“See any sketchy looking characters?”
She smiled. “If you’re an assassin by trade, it pays to blend in, not stand out.”
“I suppose that’s true. Which means the elderly gentleman in overalls studying the selection of gardening tools could be our man.”
She laughed out loud. “I suppose so, but the woman with the bluish white pin curls and ferocious glare looks far more dangerous. She’ll definitely take out anyone who bids on that old trundle sewing machine she’s guarding.”
When her phone vibrated, she pulled it from her pocket and read the text. “Wolf says the meeting is a go in his dad’s office on Capitol Hill at six o’clock tonight.”
“Good.” Wyatt’s tone was grim. “I can’t wait to face that bitch and tell her she killed her own political aspirations instead of us.”
“I just wish we knew who else wants us dead.” From the shelter of the oak, she studied the red brick, colonial style mansion. Uniform windows flanked by black shutters marched across the front of the house. “The second story is the only vantage point where a sniper could take a shot. This place is fairly isolated, and the old carriage house they use for a garage doesn’t have any windows facing this direction.”
“How do we know if an armed maniac is in the house?”
“We keep an eye out for movement upstairs and make sure the platform where the auctioneer is standing blocks his view. I’m more worried about someone in the crowd getting close to us. We need to stay mobile.”
He nodded toward several middle-aged women dressed in casual shorts and tops. “They’ve been staring at us for a while, now.”
“Probably star struck by your celebrity good looks. Let’s stroll that way and mingle with the ladies while you sign autographs. If we’re in a group, it’ll be harder for a killer to approach us.”
He rolled his eyes. “Duh. How uptight am I not to recognize fans? This whole situation is turning me into a headcase.”
“Stay vigilant but don’t flip out on me.” She squeezed his arm. “We’ve got this. My goal is to see who else bids on the spoon.”
They left the cover of the tree and crossed the yard, stopping near the group of women. When one of them sucked up her courage and tentatively approached, Wyatt flashed a bright smile. The rest hurried after their leader and surrounded him, pulling notepads and pens from their purses. While he chatted with them and signed autographs, Talia studied the people nearby, looking for anyone edging closer. From their current position, she didn’t have a good view of the house, which meant a sniper wouldn’t be able to pick them off.
Wyatt touched her arm. “The next box lot includes that teapot Kaitlyn wanted.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “Go ahead and bid on it. I’m curious to see if anyone else expresses interest. Maybe they’ll think the spoon got switched around and bite.”
When the auctioneer, an older gentleman wearing a white suit and a string tie, started his spiel and asked for a starting bid of twenty dollars, Wyatt raised his paddle. A woman in a big, floppy hat bid twenty-five. Wyatt upped the ante to thirty.
“Fifty,” a male voice called from the other side of the crowd.
When Wyatt bid sixty, the floppy-hatted woman dropped out. Talia stood on her toes to get a look at the other bidder but couldn’t see anything but an arm in a blue shirt raised to bid seventy-five.
“Drop out. Let’s see who the other person is.”
Wyatt lowered his paddle and shook his head.
“Do I hear eighty-five? How about eighty?” The auctioneer scanned the crowd. “All right. Sold to the gentleman in blue.” He glanced over at the woman on the platform keeping records. “That’s bidder number thirty-six.”
“Kaitlyn’s going to be pissed I let the teapot go.”
Talia grinned. “Too bad for Kaitlyn. After the spoon gets auctioned off, we’ll take a look at the list of bidders to see who number thirty-six is.”
“Smart.”
“Even smarter would be to scope out the guy first. Let’s wander in his direction while they’re bidding on that footstool.”
“I’ll follow your lead.” He turned to the group of women and smiled. “It’s been a real pleasure, ladies. I have a special new series coming up soon, so don’t forget to watch our show.”
“I never miss an episode.” The senior member of the group beamed at him. “You’re a true gentleman, Mr. Stone. Your friend is a lucky lady.”
With a final wave, he escaped and caught up to Talia. “Do you see number thirty-six yet?”
She dodged around a large man rubbing his sweating, bald head with a handkerchief. “I don’t know—” She broke off and frowned. “I think that’s him. The shirt color is right.”
“The old dude with the trophy wife? Or is the looker on his arm his daughter?”
Talia shuddered. “The way she’s clinging to him, I hope they’re not related. “Ma
ybe she just wanted that teapot, and he isn’t after Jefferson’s spoon, after all.”
Wyatt nudged her with his elbow. “See that musclebound jock in the black T-shirt to our right. He’s been watching you pretty steadily.”
Talia checked him out as the auctioneer sold the footstool and moved on to a seascape painting by an artist she’d never heard of. “Not to brag or anything, but my guess is he just thinks I’m hot.”
Wyatt responded with a slow smile. “That’s because you are. Extremely hot.”
“He’s with someone, probably a girlfriend since she looks irritated, so I don’t think he’s any threat.” Turning back toward the stage, she locked gazes with a blond woman wearing slacks and a tailored shirt. After a moment, she turned away. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“Sold!” the auctioneer yelled. “Enjoy your painting, ma’am.”
“Jill Erickson is standing about five yards to your left.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Tan pants and a pale green shirt. Blond hair pulled back in a clip.”
“Do you think she’ll try to—”
“My guess is she’s here to bid on the spoon, not kill us.”
“Damn. I guess she didn’t get the memo about the meeting yet.” Wyatt narrowed his gaze. “Yep, that’s her, all right.”
“Senator Grant didn’t tell Deirdre Gamble why we want to meet with her. She doesn’t know we have evidence against her.”
“So, they’re still following their original game plan?”
“Yep.”
The auctioneer held up Jefferson’s spoon. “This is a beautiful eighteenth century piece. Stirling silver. “Can I get an opening bid of one hundred dollars?”
Wyatt raised his paddle.
Erickson immediately called out, “Two hundred.”
“I have a feeling that spoon is going to cost you a fortune.” Talia scanned the crowd, staying vigilant.
“I figured, but damn. Good thing production is paying for it.” Raising his paddle, he yelled, “Three hundred.”
The woman on the platform recording sales for the auctioneer seemed to be having a heated discussion with someone on the phone. After a moment, she raised four fingers. Her boss frowned and stopped his spiel to converse with her. His eyes widened, and he turned back to the crowd.
“We weren’t planning to take remote bids today, but due to the credentials of our caller, I intend to make an exception. The bid stands at four hundred. Do I hear five?”
Erickson waved her paddle.
The auctioneer’s assistant held the phone to her ear with her shoulder and held up all ten fingers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the bid is now one thousand dollars. This little teaspoon sure is popular. Will anyone go eleven hundred?”
Wyatt winced. “Should I even bother? Rita will kill me for bidding over a grand—if she doesn’t take it out of my salary.”
“Why don’t you run up the price, just for fun?”
He grinned. “What the hell. Might as well see how badly they want it.” He raised his paddle. “Two thousand!”
The auctioneer’s eyes sparkled. “We have a real bidding war on our hands, folks. Do I hear twenty-five hundred?”
Erickson raised her paddle just as the assistant held up three fingers.”
“Three thousand!” His drooping white moustache quivered in excitement. “Do I hear three-fifty? Anyone?”
Wyatt held up his paddle while Erickson spoke on her cell. After a moment, the auctioneer’s assistant held up four fingers.
“The bid stands at four thousand dollars.”
Erickson stuck her phone in her pocket and shook her head.
“No? How about you, sir?” The old gentleman gave Wyatt an enquiring look.”
He gave a quick head shake and lowered his paddle to his side.
“Anyone else care to beat four thousand?” When the crowd remained silent, the man brought down his gavel. “Sold to our remote bidder for four thousand dollars!”
Wyatt let out a sigh. “Losing that spoon sucks, but the other guy wasn’t going to quit.”
“Probably not.”
“Now what do we do?”
Talia gripped his arm and edged him through the crowd. “We get the hell out of here so I can hack into the auction house records and see who just bought Jefferson’s spoon.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Wyatt Stone!”
Wyatt spun around just as something whizzed past his head.
“Down!” Talia tackled him from behind, and he landed on the ground with a thump.
The air left his lungs in a whoosh as she rolled off him.
“Get behind that hedge.”
Gathering his wits, he crawled after her toward the barrier separating the lawn from the garage and sheds. “Did someone just shoot at me? I didn’t hear anything.”
“He used a silencer.” She stared toward the house. “I saw movement in the far window on the north side just a second before he fired.”
“Mr. Stone? Are you hurt?” The same voice he’d heard before Talia knocked him down grew louder.
As footsteps approached, Talia scrambled to her feet but stayed behind the protection of the hedge. He followed suit and met Jill Erickson’s sharp gaze.
“What happened? Are you injured? One moment, you were walking away, and the next you were rolling on the ground.”
Talia narrowed her eyes on the woman. “Someone just tried to shoot Wyatt.”
“Oh, my God. That’s horrible. Apparently, everyone isn’t a fan of your show, Mr. Stone. Shouldn’t you call the police?”
The woman wasn’t a very good actress. He could practically see the gears turning in her head, but the shock tightening her features appeared genuine. If this woman had hired the shooter, she wouldn’t have come anywhere near them.
“It wouldn’t do much good since he—or she—would be long gone by the time the authorities arrive. Only an idiot would stick around after missing his shot.” Talia’s face was expressionless. “Did you want something from us, Ms. Erickson?”
That threw her. She swallowed visibly. “If you know who I am, you probably know why I approached you. Deirdre Gamble just texted that she’s meeting with you this evening. When I saw you in the crowd, I wondered if I could facilitate matters by finding out why, exactly, you wish to talk to the senator.”
Wyatt spoke quickly. “I’d like to interview her on my show.”
“If this is about the mix up with the burner phone that was stolen from my car—”
“No.” Talia cut her off. “We believe Senator Gamble has one of the spoons, and the meeting we requested is to discuss an interview for the series.”
“Why would you think she—”
“Because I did a little research. Deirdre Gamble is related to Alexander Hamilton, and based on your obvious interest in the other spoons . . .”
All hint of pretense faded away, and her lips tightened. “You’re a step ahead of us. She was actually going to contact you.”
“Then we saved her the trouble.” Talia’s smile held a distinct edge. “Why don’t you join the senator this evening. I’m sure you can be of assistance in wrapping this matter up to everyone’s satisfaction.”
She nodded. “I’ll do that, but be careful, Mr. Stone. We wouldn’t want you to get shot before your story airs.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m staying alert to trouble.” He turned away from the woman. “See you this evening.”
Keeping the garage between them and the house as they headed toward the parking area, Talia studied the few stragglers leaving the auction. “I don’t see anyone suspicious, and by suspicious, I mean carrying a case that could contain a broken-down rifle. Whoever took a shot at you must have retreated to the west into those trees behind the house.”
“If Jill Erickson hadn’t called my name when she did, and I hadn’t turned—”
“You’d be dead. My fault.” She jerked open the door of t
he rental car, got in, and slammed it shut. As he started the engine, she turned toward him. Her face was pale, and her eyes were deep pools of regret. “I’m sorry. Really sorry. I was focused on getting us away from the crowd and briefly lost the line of vision from the house.”
He reached over and laid his palm against her cheek. “This isn’t on you. I knew the risk when I agreed to attend the auction.”
“Doesn’t make me feel any better. My only goal right now is to track down the asshole shooting at you, or preferably, the person who hired him.” She let out a long, slow breath and seemed to compose herself. “Let’s get back to the hotel so I can dig into the auction company’s records and see who the mystery caller was.”
“What about lunch?”
“We’ll get something to go and eat in our room.”
“Probably better than hanging out where someone can try to kill us.”
The car bumped across the field to the access road where he turned toward downtown Alexandria. After stopping at a deli to pick up sandwiches, they drove straight to their hotel, handed over the Mustang to the attendant, and hurried through the lobby and up the stairs. Once Talia took a quick look around and declared the place safe, they entered their room.
“Exactly the way we left it.” He set the bag with their lunch on the table.
“Since we don’t have our spoons with us, and they probably assume that by now, there’s no reason to toss the place. Too risky.”
He pulled sandwiches out, handed her one, and unwrapped the other. “Who do you think is behind the shootings?”
“I honestly don’t have a clue. Deirdre Gamble’s motivation makes sense. Doesn’t seem likely someone else high up in the federal government would also have a spoon. The chances of that would be pretty slim, but not impossible.”
“What if that’s what’s driving him or her?” Wyatt chewed thoughtfully as his brain processed the new idea. “He could be afraid possession of a spoon would give someone else an edge in the primary.”
“I suppose so. But this psycho’s main motivation seems to be to stop you from exposing the story at all. By any means necessary, up to and including murder. There’s the document signed by the founding fathers to consider, as well. Not just the spoons.”
Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4) Page 23