“Here comes the detective in charge now. I’m sure he’ll want to speak to you.”
When the officer waved, the man leaving the house turned toward them. He paused for a moment before hurrying over.
“Good God, Luna. You turn up more often than a bad penny.”
“Hello, Detective Brasher. Do you remember Wyatt Stone?”
“Of course.” The detective stopped in front of them. “Afternoon, Mr. Stone.” He faced the cop. “I’ll take it from here, Walsh. You can start canvasing the neighborhood. There must be a witness out there somewhere.”
“Sure thing, Detective.” The younger man tipped his hat to Talia and walked away.
Brasher eyed her up and down. “Wanna tell me what you’re doing here?”
“A researcher from Wyatt’s show tracked one of the spoons like mine to Alonzo Voss. We had an appointment to discuss purchasing it once we verified his was legit. I assume that’s Mr. Voss on the stretcher, right?”
“It is. Good God. Those damn spoons seem to be cursed.”
Wyatt couldn’t help agreeing with his assessment. “Did you notice a really old spoon with thistles etched on the handle lying near the dead body?”
“No, but I’ll have the forensic team go through the house again to look for it.”
“They won’t find anything.” Talia squinted against the sun. “I’m sure whoever murdered Voss has it tucked in his back pocket right now.”
“You think he was killed over a spoon?”
“That’s my guess.”
The detective ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “Any idea who offed him?”
A wry smile tilted her lips. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Give it a shot.”
“I don’t know who pulled the trigger—”
“No firearm involved. Someone slit the man’s throat.”
“Lovely. Okay, I don’t know who wielded the knife, but the person who ordered the hit was probably Mason Brower, on behalf of his boss.”
“Mason Brower?” Brasher gave her an incredulous look. “President Cox’s chief of staff? That Mason Brower?”
“Yep.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Not a shred.” She sounded only slightly regretful.
“Jesus Christ, Luna. You can’t go around making unfounded accusations against people like Brower. Have you lost your mind?”
“I wish.”
The detective let out a long breath and turned toward Wyatt. “Do you have anything you’d like to add?”
“Not really. I suppose you want to know where we were when Voss was murdered?”
“I certainly would since that’s what I’ll be putting in my report rather than Luna’s unsubstantiated suspicions about President Cox’s righthand man.”
“We caught a flight out of D.C. this morning, which landed around ten, then took a cab to Talia’s apartment where we dropped our luggage, had a snack, and called an Uber. The man let us off just down the block about fifteen minutes ago. I’m not sure what your timeline is, but—”
“I’ll need a flight number to confirm your story, but it sounds like you were in the air while Voss was getting his throat slit.”
“American flight 701.” Talia turned when a black SUV cruised up the street and stopped out of the way of the departing ambulance. “I don’t suppose you’d like to share any evidence your forensics team discovers in the house?”
The detective smiled. “Tell you what. If their findings point to Mason Brower as the mastermind, you’ll be the first to know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you need anything else from us?”
“That should do it. I have your number if I have more questions.”
“Great. Then we’ll take off. See you around, Detective Brasher.”
Wyatt followed Talia toward the SUV where a man who looked familiar waited on the sidewalk beside the vehicle. Her Counterstrike teammate, Patch.
The doctor raised a brow. “Your text sounded urgent. It doesn’t look like I need to remove any bullets today.”
“Funny. Thanks for coming to get us.” Talia touched Wyatt’s arm. “You remember Patch.”
“Of course.” He shook the other man’s outstretched hand.
“Are you free to go?”
Talia nodded. “I was a little worried we’d get taken in for questioning since the man we planned to meet wound up dead. But Detective Brasher knows me—”
“Brasher believed you didn’t kill the guy?”
“Apparently we have a solid alibi, which doesn’t hurt.” When she got in the vehicle on the front passenger side, Wyatt sat in the back. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, so I texted you.”
“I’m glad you did.” Patch started the engine. “Where to?”
“Home, I guess. We have a problem to work out.”
Patch turned the big SUV around in an empty driveway and left the way he’d come in. “Anything I can do to help?”
“The most powerful man in the world wants to kill the story we’ve been working on, and by extension, us. How do we stop him?”
He was silent for a minute. “I don’t know what to say. What to think.”
“I don’t, either.” Talia turned in her seat and glanced back at Wyatt before facing her colleague. “A man just died because he had one of the spoons. The fact that mine is at Counterstrike headquarters right now is freaking me out.”
“No one is going to get into headquarters without encountering serious resistance. The place is a fortress. Don’t let that worry you, Luna. The question is, are you safe in your apartment?”
“I don’t know. Probably. No one tried anything at the hotel where we were staying, and they already searched my place. Twice. Still, I feel like we’re spinning out of control.”
“I’d be happier if you came back to base with me. Better safe than sorry.”
She let out a ragged breath. “You’re probably right, but first we need to get a few things from the apartment, including my laptop.”
“No problem.”
They were nearing her neighborhood when Patch’s cell rang. He tapped the screen to connect. “What’s up, Scarlet?”
“A new case.” Her voice came through the speaker. “A child taken on the way home from school by a non-custodial parent. The woman is off her meds and a danger to both herself and her daughter. Speed is essential.”
“I’m here, Scarlet, and I can help.” Talia spoke quickly.
“Thanks, Luna, but Silas already located them. He and Patch should be able to recover the girl easily enough.”
“Where?” The doctor double-parked next to a white florist’s van near Talia’s apartment building.
“Upstate New York. Sparrow is getting the chopper ready right now.”
“I’ll be back to headquarters in a few minutes.” He disconnected. “Grab your stuff and let’s go.”
“No, we’ll follow shortly.” When he started to protest, she shook her head. “I’m armed and alert. Go, Patch.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
As soon as they stepped out of the SUV, he roared off down the street.
Wyatt stared after the retreating vehicle. “Is that how your rescues usually work?”
“Sometimes. Often finding the victim can take time, so we have longer to prepare. This situation sounds like a slam-dunk, but they need to get to the child without delay. This isn’t some asshole waiting for ransom.”
She led the way into the building and up the stairs. At her floor, she stepped into the hallway and smiled broadly. “Hi, Eloise. It’s good to see you.”
“Talia!” The elderly woman, sporting bright pink pants and a tunic with a flamingo embroidered on the front, left her apartment and hurried toward them. “You haven’t been home in ages. And Mr. Stone is with you. How delightful.”
“We won’t be staying long, I’m afraid. While I was gone, did you notice anyone hanging around my apartment who doesn’t belong?”
“Not a
soul since that nasty man attacked you. Of course, I haven’t been home much. I have a new gentleman friend I spend a lot of my time with.”
“He’s a lucky man, Eloise, but I won’t keep you since you’re on your way out.”
“I’m having my hair highlighted. Hot date tonight.” She gave a little wave as she walked by them. “You two enjoy yourselves.”
Wyatt chuckled softly as the older woman trotted down the stairs. “Eloise is something else.”
“She really is.” Talia unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Nothing’s been touched.”
“Good.” He stepped around the luggage they’d left on the floor earlier. “Do you really think staying at Counterstrike headquarters is necessary? Like you said, no one came near us in Alexandria.”
She leaned against the back of the couch. “Maybe not, but I’d rather not risk trouble. A man was murdered today because of us.”
“How do you figure?” He studied her tightly drawn features. “Voss’s death isn’t on us. Brower, or whoever he has working for him, must have tracked down the spoon, the same way Kaitlyn did.”
Her brows drew together. “I’ve been thinking about that. Neither Senator Gamble nor President Cox’s hirelings have made a single move on their own. Every action has been in response to something we discovered. Why would this time be different?”
“Kaitlyn said she only told Rita and me about Voss’s spoon, and we already determined she’s in the clear. There’s no way Rita would have said anything to the rest of crew, not after Gretchen blindsided us.”
“We know Kaitlyn wasn’t collaborating with Senator Gamble, but maybe she’s the one feeding Brower information.”
“Your theory doesn’t make any sense. If she was trying to screw us, why would she arrange a meeting with Voss? Why wouldn’t she just tell Brower so he could quietly retrieve the spoon?”
“Good point. If not Kaitlyn, then Rita—”
He shook his head. “She would never risk her career. I don’t care how much money he paid her.”
“You know her better than I do, but are you sure she didn’t confide in someone?”
“I’ll find out. Want me to call her now?”
“You can after we get to headquarters. I need to pack some clean clothes, but that’ll only take a couple of minutes.”
“I’ll take out the trash while you get organized. It smells kind of funky in here.”
She glanced toward the kitchen area, started to say something, and stopped. “Yeah, it does. Check the fridge, too. The milk is probably bad. There’s a garbage shoot at the end of the hall.”
He poured the expired milk down the drain, tossed some suspicious looking leftovers in the trash, and cinched the top. After taking a quick look into the empty hallway, he headed toward the stairs and dropped the bag down the chute.
When a floorboard creaked behind him, he spun around, arm raised. Too late. Pain ricocheted through his skull, and his knees buckled. Before he could shout out, a hand clamped a damp, foul-smelling cloth over his nose. The hall walls wavered, then faded . . .
* * * *
Talia pulled shirts off hangers and turned away from her closet when steps on the stairs echoed faintly. “Wyatt.”
When he didn’t respond, the fine hair rose on her arms. Dropping the armful of clothes, she sprinted to the door. The hallway was empty.
“No. Oh, no.” She ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and was halfway to the lobby when the door at the bottom of the stairwell slammed against the wall.
Putting on a burst of speed, her foot slipped on a tread, and she jerked forward, barely saving herself from taking a header. Seconds later, she bolted into the lobby and shoved through the doors onto the street. No sign of Wyatt. Only a couple of pedestrians hurrying by on the sidewalk.
Across the street, the van with the florist’s emblem on the side pulled away from the curb. The same van that had been there when Patch dropped them off. She caught a glimpse of a man’s forearm covered in tattoos before the window slid up as he drove away. Chasing the vehicle on foot would be futile.
As the van turned the corner and disappeared, she repeated the license number a couple of times to cement it in her brain. When something black lying in the gutter where the vehicle had been parked caught her attention, she ran across the street and scooped it up. Wyatt’s phone, smashed and useless.
Closing her eyes, she took a couple of deep breaths before returning to her building. “He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.” Repeating the mantra over and over, she ran back up the stairs and entered her apartment. Her hands shook as she opened her computer. “If they wanted to kill him, they would have done so and dumped his body.”
The mumbled words didn’t ease the nausea welling up the back of her throat. She swallowed hard and searched online for the florist shop, Happy Blossoms. Nothing came up in the Boston area. There was one listing in Milwaukee and another in Phoenix.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” The business was a fake. The driver probably switched decals more often than he changed his socks. Pulling out her phone, she called Detective Brasher.
“Brasher, here.” His voice sounded distracted.
“Detective, this is Talia Davis. Someone abducted Wyatt.”
“Shit. Tell me what happened.”
She gave a quick summary of the incident, along with a description of the van and the plate number. “I’m sure they’ve removed the florist logo by now.”
“I’ll put out an APB immediately. Look, I’m tied up with something, but I’ll let you know if we find the vehicle. Call me if you learn anything else. Knowing you and your team, you’ll probably dig up information faster than I can.”
“I hope. Thanks, Detective.” She disconnected and went to work.
Hacking into the DMV to find the license number didn’t take long. The vehicle was registered to Cameron Harris, which might or might not be an alias. At least it was a place to start. A half hour later, she hadn’t found any more relevant information. Frustration and fear stretched her nerves to the breaking point.
When her cell rang, she yanked it from her pocket, praying it was Brasher with news.
Not the detective. Disappointment hit hard as she swiped to connect. “Hi, Scarlet. Is there a problem?”
“Patch said you were coming right over. When you didn’t show up, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Someone grabbed Wyatt.” Her voice shook. “I got a look at the van they drove off in, but so far every lead has gone exactly nowhere.”
“How can I help?” No platitudes from Scarlet. As always, she got straight to the point.
“I don’t know.” Talia gripped the edge of her desk. “If I can’t track his abductor, and the police don’t locate the van soon, I’m going to have to change my tactics and find him through the man calling all the shots. Not a simple task.”
“You sound like you’re ready to break. Come over here and let me brainstorm with you. Wolf’s still in D.C., but maybe there’s something he can do from there. GQ is in Phoenix for a family thing, but he’ll fly back if we need him.”
“No, don’t call him. Not yet, anyway.” She squeezed her eyes shut to ward off tears. “But I could use a little moral support. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Luna.” Scarlet’s tone was sharp. “Keep your eyes open. You could be a target, too.”
“I wish. At least then I’d know where the bastards took Wyatt.”
She disconnected and slipped her holstered weapon on over her T-shirt. After donning a loose windbreaker, she stuffed her laptop into her backpack, grabbed her bike, and wheeled it out the door. The ride to headquarters was quick, darting in and out of traffic. Once she reached the brownstone, she unlocked the door and pushed her bike inside and leaned it against the wall.
“In the kitchen,” Scarlet called faintly.
Talia hurried down the hall past her office and walked into the old-fashioned room with its black and white decor and long table, perfect for col
laborative sessions.
“Sit.” Scarlet turned away from the refrigerator carrying a tall glass filled with ice and amber liquid. “It’s tea, but I can add a stiff shot. You look like you could use it.”
“You’re probably right, but I need all my brain cells functioning at full capacity.” She bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying. “It’s my fault Wyatt is in danger. I can’t believe I was so stupid and careless.”
“What happened?”
Talia took a long swallow of the refreshing drink. “I was packing a few clean clothes, and Wyatt offered to take out the trash since it smelled pretty awful. I almost said no, but stopped myself. I know it bothers him when I take charge and act like he can’t look out for himself. He only walked a few yards down the hall.”
“Not your fault.” Scarlet’s tone was firm. “Someone grabbed him?”
“I assume so. I didn’t hear anything. They must have followed us up the stairs. I ran down in time to see a florist van drive away. The logo appears to be a fake, and I’ve had no luck tracking the owner. The registration address is a post office box.”
Scarlet pushed her into a chair and regarded her through intelligent gray eyes as she sat beside her. “Who do you think took him?”
“Mason Brower, undoubtedly on orders from the president.”
The other woman drew in a breath. “Wow.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you think they want?”
“To kill this story. Do you know about the spoons?”
“Wolf told me there’s also a document signed by the founding fathers.”
Talia nodded. “President Cox obviously fears revealing that historic executive order would negatively impact his reelection campaign. His opponent, whoever it is, will point at the mess the country is in right now as exactly what the founding fathers feared most. All the hype generated could be used as a powerful argument against the incumbent.”
“What good is holding Wyatt going to do him?”
“I’m not sure.” She refused to even entertain the notion they might simply kill him. “They’ve been gathering the spoons any way they can, up to and including murder, in an attempt to shut down the story. I left mine here in my office, and Wyatt’s is currently in a safe deposit box with his copy of the document. Maybe Cox wants to make sure there aren’t instructions to release everything we know to the media if something happens to him. That’s the only reason I can think of for the abduction.”
Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4) Page 26