“Sounds like a decent reason.” Scarlet didn’t say what they were both obviously thinking. That Wyatt’s captors wouldn’t hesitate to torture him for the information they wanted.
“I have to find him.” Talia’s voice cracked.
“If they know so much about your movements, someone must be feeding them information.”
Talia straightened in her chair. “Wyatt was going to call his producer to see if she told anyone about the last spoon we located. Problem is, I don’t have her number, and Wyatt’s phone is destroyed.”
She opened her laptop and pulled up the website for his show. The only number listed was for a charity supporting historical preservation. With a shrug, she dialed and ignored the prompts to make an automatic payment. Finally, a real person came on the line.
“Would you like to make a donation to help save our historic treasures?” a cheerful female voice asked.
“Actually, I need to speak to someone in charge.”
“I can take your information, ma’am. If you—”
“A lot of money is involved, so please put me through to your supervisor. I don’t think you want to be responsible for me taking my charitable contributions elsewhere.”
Sounding far less enthusiastic, the woman finally responded. “I’ll transfer you.”
Scarlet gave her a thumbs up. “Impressive.”
“We’ll see how far up the food chain I get. I didn’t figure she would simply put me through to Rita.”
The hold music cut off abruptly. “This is Jarvis Anderson. How may I help you?”
Ten minutes and three people later, Rita Chen came on the line. “Yes?”
“Ms. Chen, this is Talia Davis. Wyatt is in trouble, and I need your help.”
“What happened?”
“Someone followed us to my apartment and grabbed him. Undoubtedly the same person who killed Alonzo Voss.”
“What! Voss, the guy with the spoon, is dead?”
“Murdered a couple of hours before we arrived in Boston.”
“Oh, my God! Are the police looking for Wyatt?”
“Yes, but by now, I’m sure his abductors have him stashed somewhere no one will find him unless we get a solid lead. I need to know who’s been providing these assholes with information because they’re awfully well-informed.”
“Gretchen—”
“No, not her. Someone else familiar with Wyatt’s schedule. Did you tell anyone about Voss’s spoon? Even a casual mention to a friend could have gotten back to the wrong person.”
“No one. My trust level is at an all-time low right now. I told Kaitlyn to contact Wyatt with the details. Period.”
“It’s possible she has her own agenda. She and Wyatt dated briefly—”
“I’m aware. I make it a point to know what’s going on with my people, although I stay out of their business unless I feel it will affect their work performance. I can’t imagine Kaitlyn is the leak. Why would she set up a meeting only to derail it?”
“That was Wyatt’s reasoning. If she isn’t the informant, she must have told the person who is.” Talia stiffened. “Last night, she said she had to go, that she had a date. Do you know who—”
“Joel Picket, our key grip.” Rita swore softly. “Rumor has it she and Joel recently hooked up. He’s been pursuing her for a few weeks now, since shortly after this story took shape.”
“I need to talk to him.” Her tone was grim. “Can I get a phone number and an address for both him and Kaitlyn, since I might need to speak to her.”
“Of course.” Rita put her on hold for a minute before coming back with the information. “What can you do from Boston? Shouldn’t we call the police here in L.A. to talk to him?”
“I don’t want to spook Picket and have him tip off the man he’s working for. This situation will take some finesse, and I hope like hell I don’t have to fly across the country to get answers.”
“You’ll let me know if I can help?”
Talia met Scarlet’s concerned gaze. “I will. Right now, time isn’t on our side. I need to find Wyatt—before it’s too late.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Wyatt woke slowly. His right cheek was pressed against cold concrete, his head pounded, and his fuzzy brain refused to focus. The room in which he was lying was dimly lit. The rank odor of fish assaulted his nose, but when he tried to move, his stomach lurched. Taking a few shallow breaths, he waited until the surge of nausea faded.
When he was confident he wouldn’t puke, he pushed upright to a sitting position and checked his pockets. No phone. And from the looks of his surroundings, not many options for escape.
“Shit!” His voice croaked, and his head throbbed as he took stock of his situation. The room was roughly eight by twelve feet with a metal sink and counter at one end. A long, narrow window above it let in minimal daylight, and a single bulb was suspended overhead. Dark stains covered the floor. Blood, he guessed, but not human. Based on the smell, this place was used to clean fish. There were no other furnishings except for a plastic bucket in one corner.
A single, plank door was the only exit. Pressing down with both palms, he rose to his feet and gripped one of the rough studs spaced along the walls. Staggering the length of the room, he shoved against the door. It didn’t budge, undoubtedly locked from outside.
As his mind cleared, a hazy memory of someone knocking him over the head and pressing a cloth against his face surfaced. He touched the side of his skull and winced when his fingers grazed a swollen lump, but no blood matted his hair. It had probably been a chloroformed rag that had rendered him unconscious.
Closing his eyes, he strained to hear anything outside the four walls. The faint surge of waves pounded in the distance, along with the squawk of a gull. No voices though, and nothing to indicate any human was nearby. Walking back to the sink, he heaved himself up onto the counter and peered through the dirty window. Rocks led down to a strip of beach, and the ocean stretched to the far horizon.
Possibly, he was still in Massachusetts, but the topography didn’t belong to Boston Harbor. This landscape was much more rugged and desolate. Maybe somewhere up the coast. And from the low angle of the sun, evening was fast approaching. He must have been unconscious for hours.
His thoughts turned to Bree, and he was fiercely glad his daughter didn’t know what had happened to him. At this point, Talia must be worried sick. He well remembered how helpless he’d felt when those bastards had grabbed her. Fear had gnawed on his nerve endings until he wanted to shout with frustration. At least she had her training to keep her focused, and he was confident she would use every resource available to track the people who’d taken him and find out where he was.
Not that he intended to simply sit and wait for rescue. Surely there was something he could do to help himself. Sliding off the metal counter to the floor, he squatted to grip the drainpipe that bent at a U-joint before it disappeared through the wall, and gave it a hard yank. A little rust flaked off in his hand, but the plumbing fixture was solid. He’d need a wrench to loosen it.
Rising, he studied the faucet jutting out above the sink. He could probably take it apart, but it was too short to be very useful as a weapon. His eyes narrowed. One of the metal legs holding up the end of the counter could definitely crack someone’s skull if he swung it hard enough.
The murmur of voices alerted him before the scuff of footsteps on gravel drew closer. He turned and faced the door as a chain rattled. Seconds later, the heavy plank portal swung wide, and two men walked into the shed.
“You’re awake.”
The speaker was familiar from TV appearances during press conferences, always at the president’s side. Mason Brower was a large man whose muscle was only just beginning to turn to fat. He probably outweighed Wyatt by seventy pounds. The man with him was similarly built but slightly shorter and twenty years younger. Wyatt didn’t like his chances of taking down either one without a weapon and the element of surprise on his side. Maybe not even then.
“What do you want from me?”
“You’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest of trouble, Mr. Stone. A smart man would have given up on this story a long time ago. Apparently, you’re not that bright, and now you’ll face the consequences.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Where’s your spoon and the document you found with it?”
“Somewhere safe.”
Brower moved closer, stopping a yard away. “I’m going to need a better answer than that.”
“You aren’t going to get one.”
“Oh really?”
His smile sent a chill down Wyatt’s spine. “Really.”
“I think you’ll be happy to talk once my friend spends a little time with you.” His eyes narrowed. “Or he’ll fillet you like a damn fish.”
The younger man pulled a wicked-looking, thin-bladed boning knife from a scabbard and turned it over on his calloused palm.
The hair rose on the back of Wyatt’s neck as he eyed the weapon. His only hope was to stall for time. “What if I make you a deal? I drop the story in exchange for an exclusive interview with your boss. We can find some other historic spin to put on the show. Maybe follow his lineage back to his first ancestor to step foot on American soil. Free publicity for the president’s campaign and good for our ratings. A win-win for both of us.”
“Playing ‘Let’s Make a Deal’ isn’t an option.”
“Why not? Cox didn’t get where he is by being inflexible. Maybe you should call him before you dismiss my offer.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Better yet, have him talk to me in person. Who knows what we can work out?”
Brower snorted. “The president isn’t going to listen to your bullshit.”
“Senator Gamble wasn’t too proud to meet with me. Our conversation was very interesting.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your boss isn’t the only one who wants those spoons. It would be a real shame if the interview with the senator aired before I could work something out with the president. You can kill me, but that won’t stop the producers from making sure her story is featured on prime time. In fact, my death will only expedite its release.”
“I don’t believe you.” His tone was filled with bluster, but his eyes held a hint of uncertainty.
“Ask John Grant. We met in the senator’s offices on Capitol Hill.”
Brower hitched his head toward the door. “Let’s go. I need to make a couple of calls before we proceed.”
“That’s too bad. I was looking forward to hearing him squawk like a seagull.” The second man’s voice was high pitched, at odds with his muscular physique.
“I’m sure you’ll have an opportunity later, but I need to clear up a few facts first.” He scowled at Wyatt. “We’ll be back.”
The door slammed behind them, and the chain rattled before their footsteps faded, leaving only the soft sound of the sea and the thump of his heart. He let out a long breath. Hopefully, he’d earned himself enough time for Talia to find him.
Turning, he walked back to the sink, opened the tap, and bent to drink from the stream. After quenching his thirst, he splashed water on his face. He’d also gained time to fashion some sort of weapon. Maybe the counter leg wouldn’t be of much use against a filet knife, but it was better than nothing.
All he could do was hope he wouldn’t need to use it. That they would leave him alone until Talia and her teammates showed up. Or the president came to see him in person. Either way, he’d make damn sure he was ready. Because dying in this shitty little hell hole without ever seeing his daughter or Talia again definitely wasn’t an option.
* * * *
Talia snatched up her phone and swiped to connect, hoping for news. Any news at all. Making no progress in her efforts to locate Wyatt was killing her.
“Did you learn something, Wolf?”
“Maybe. My dad had an interesting phone call. Alan Vickers wanted to know if he’d recently facilitated a meeting between Wyatt and Senator Gamble.”
“Alan Vickers . . . the name sounds familiar.”
“Cox’s attorney general. They’re tight. Could be, he’s in the loop along with Mason Brower.”
“What did your dad tell him?” What she really wanted to ask was how the hell this would help her find Wyatt, but she forced herself to refrain.
“Luckily, I was with him when he answered the phone and guided him through the call. Vickers was on a fishing expedition to see if Dierdre Gamble was doing a feature for No Stone Unturned. I don’t think they know much, if anything, about her involvement. Maybe only that she has a spoon.”
Talia’s throat tightened, and she spoke with an effort. “You think Wyatt broke and said something?”
“I’m not sure. He might have thrown out some sort of red herring to play for time. Dad has friends all over D.C. who owe him, and he’s calling in favors. If either Cox or Vickers makes a move, we’ll know about it. Brower seems to have left Washington, but no one knows where he went or why he left.”
“GQ should have landed in L.A. by now. Hopefully he can coerce some intel out of that jerk, Joel Picket.”
“Lucky for us, he was in Arizona and could get there quickly. He’ll come through for you, Luna.”
“I know he will. He bailed on his sister’s rehearsal dinner the minute I called. No hesitation.”
“The same way you would have done for him. Call me if he drags anything useful out of that guy. I’ll work the Vickers angle from this end.”
“Okay. Bye, Wolf.” She disconnected and faced Scarlet when the other woman placed a sandwich in front of her. “If we’re lucky, the attorney general will get on a plane and lead us straight to Wyatt.”
“Let’s hope. Eat. You need energy, even if you aren’t hungry.”
She eyed the sandwich with little enthusiasm. “No offense, but I’ll probably choke on it.”
“None taken. Try.”
Before she could take a bite, her phone rang again, and GQ’s name flashed on the screen. She snatched it up. “What happened?”
“I’m hanging out with good old Joel. He’s feeling pretty bad about ratting out Wyatt to pay off his gambling debts.”
“Good to know.” She wondered briefly what GQ had done to convince him to talk, but honestly didn’t care. “Does he know where they’re holding him.”
“Not specifically. But while we were chatting, Mason Brower called. He wanted to know if Senator Gamble was doing some sort of tell-all on No Stone Unturned and how it might impact President Cox’s reelection strategy.”
“The attorney general, Alan Vickers, asked John Grant, the same question. Sounds to me like Wyatt is being smart and gaining himself some time.”
“He’s no idiot, so I’m not surprised. Anyway, I prodded Joel into posing a few pertinent questions of his own. He told Brower he’d try to find out what was going on and asked if he was still in Boston.”
Talia clenched her hands into fists on the table. “Is he?”
“No. He said he’s up north at his brother’s vacation home where no one would hear the . . . uh . . . screams but the seagulls. I was afraid Brower would get suspicious if he pushed harder.”
Closing her eyes, she swore softly. “Thanks, GQ. I’ll get to work and locate him. All I needed was a place to start.”
“What do you want me to do with Picket?”
“I honestly don’t care. All I’m concerned about right now is finding Wyatt before they hurt him.”
“You’ll find him, but keep your guard up. Don’t let your emotions make you careless.”
“I won’t. Bye.” She disconnected and opened her laptop. “Hold on, Wyatt,” she whispered. “Not much longer now.”
Talia took sporadic bites of the sandwich and forced herself to swallow while she dug up everything she could find on Mason Brower’s family. “I can’t believe he has six freaking siblings, four of whom are males. It’s going to take me forever to track property records for all o
f them.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Scarlet glanced up from texting. “Patch and Silas are flying back right now. They recovered the child and returned her to her father.”
“That’s good news. Silas can help me once he gets here.” She offered her friend a weak smile. “Honestly, your support has meant everything. I’m sure you’d like to go home to your husband.”
“Not a chance. Eli gets that our work comes with some odd hours. Anyway, he’s actually in Florida right now on a book signing tour, so I’m happy to be here.” She opened her laptop. “I’m also decent with a computer, if not on your level, so set me up with one of the brothers and let me see what I can find.”
Thankfulness clogged her throat with emotion. She merely nodded and pulled up Rockingham, New Hampshire county records on Scarlet’s laptop. “I’m searching through property records. Only one county in New Hampshire is on the coast, so this is the easy state. Look for any records under the name Brower. Here’s the list of brothers, but they all have wives, so search for their names, as well. If nothing pops, you can start on Maine while I work on Massachusetts.”
“Got it.”
They searched without talking much for nearly an hour before Patch and Silas arrived. Once they’d been briefed, the two men sat opposite them at the table and went to work. Within twenty minutes, they had three possible locations.
“One in Massachusetts and two in Maine.” Silas pushed his straight black hair behind his shoulder. “Do we split up to cover them all?”
“I guess we don’t have a choice.” Talia let out a frustrated breath.
“Let’s think about this.” Scarlet’s brow pleated. “The property in Newburyport is small and surrounded by other homes. If Brower said no one would hear screams, they must be holding Wyatt somewhere isolated.”
Ominous Legacy (Counterstrike Book 4) Page 27