That’s not a hard place to go with my father, but how the hell did Meredith Winter end up dead, too?
***
Kurt arrives right at ten as scheduled, and I meet him in the conference room where Rita has him waiting at the rectangular glass table. I like glass tables. There’s nowhere to hide, no hidden hand gestures or body language. As for Kurt, an ex-SEAL, he’s a casual guy who prefers jeans and t-shirts, but wears discipline like a second skin, and today is no exception. He stands when I enter, his expression stoic, all six foot four inches of him pure steel. An intimidating guy to most, and in physical combat, I’d keep my gun pointed at him and never let go of the trigger. In a boardroom, I’m the one everyone fears, but guys like Kurt usually take a bit longer than most to figure that out.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” I say, motioning for him to sit and claiming the spot directly in front of him. “The club is your life, not mine, therefore I’m gifting it to you. I’ll have the paperwork ready for you tonight, and your only expense will be the taxes on the value of the gift. I’ll front you that money in the form of a loan, if you need it. Or you can sell. I paid three hundred and fifty thousand for it. You can easily turn it for that, or more, and I’ll broker the deal for you.”
He narrows his eyes on me. “Why wouldn’t you broker it for yourself?”
“I don’t need the money, and after years of service to that club, you deserve the reward.”
“Why wouldn’t you broker it yourself?” he repeats.
“A woman,” I say simply. “I need it gone.”
“That’s becoming a familiar theme, considering you bought it when Mark Compton met a woman.”
“Technically I bought it because of his legal issues but she wasn’t just a woman. She’s his wife.”
“A woman is why he stayed away,” he says. “And I will never let a woman dictate my life.” Words that echo my own sentiments before I met Faith. “If the club is now mine,” he continues. “I’m not selling and I don’t need a loan. You pay me well and I’ve recently made a smart investment that paid off.”
“Well then, I’ll have the paperwork to you tomorrow,” I say, standing and offering him my hand as he pushes to his feet. “But I need it signed tomorrow as well.”
“Get it to me tomorrow, and I’ll have it back to you by Monday. I need time for my attorney to look it over.”
“It’s a gift,” I bite out.
“That comes with potential liability. I’ll look for the paperwork.” He heads for the door and exits.
I smile, that hard-nosed SEAL in him predictable in his skeptical pushback. I knew he’d want to have an attorney review what seemed too good to be true, even if he didn’t act like it was too good to be true. And I knew he’d push for Monday, which is after Faith and I get back from Sonoma, and a full two weeks before Macom fucks with her head again in L.A.
The phone on the conference table buzzes. “Segal is on the line,” Rita announces.
I sit down and grab the receiver. “What do you know that I don’t know?” I say, skipping the formality of a greeting. “What is it about the winery that makes the bank want it?”
“I have no idea,” he says.
“What makes that property valuable beyond the obvious?”
“Asking your question ten different ways doesn’t change my answer.”
“The note Faith’s father left for her,” I say, hitting him from another direction. “Do you know what’s inside?”
“That note is between Faith and her father.”
“She hasn’t opened it. Do you know what’s inside?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything in that letter that tells us why the bank is after the winery?”
“Absolutely nothing. It’s personal. It’s not business and she’d know that if she just opened it.”
“Right. I’ll be in touch.” I end the call, my fingers thrumming the table, when Rita buzzes again.
“Beck is here.”
She sounds uncomfortable. Beck has that effect on people. “Send him back.”
“He sent himself back,” she says, and sure enough, Beck opens the conference room door.
He’s thirty-five. Tall. Quiet. Lethal. The difference between him and Kurt: CIA vs SEALs. No conscience vs conscience. I don’t get up. I let him come to me. He saunters toward me, dressed in black jeans and a Metallica shirt, his longish, black hair spiky. He claims the seat occupied by Kurt, his stare meeting mine, his blue eyes so damn pale, it’s like looking into the eyes of a husky on the prowl, ready to attack. You want this man on your side, but you protect your throat.
“I hope this visit means you finally did your job,” I say dryly.
His lips quirk sardonically. “Meredith Winter had a gambling habit most of her adult life. Ten years ago, her husband reined her in and put her on a budget.”
“And made no provisions to control her when he died.”
“Exactly. And when he hit the ground, she did, too. The underground poker rooms, and those dudes are bad news. She lost her touch. She took out markers against the winery, which explains why there was no money trail for her spending and why your father was paying her cash.”
“If you want me to believe they both ended up dead over a gambling debt, you’re barking up a fool’s tree. My father would not just pay off her gambling debt no matter how good a fuck she was. Not without leveraging her for the winery and he’d put that in writing. You need to find it.”
“I told you. Someone wiped the phone and computer records. There are entire periods of time missing from your father’s and Meredith Winter’s records. But there is an obvious suspect here. The next person in line to inherit, even if he had to force it through the court system.”
“Faith’s uncle,” I supply.
“That’s right. Keep her away from him.”
“He fucked her mother. She hates him.”
“Interesting,” he says, though he never sounds overly interested in anything. “When?”
“The year Faith graduated college.”
“He was married then,” Kurt says, proving he’s been studying up. “And his wife is the female Mark Zuckerberg, her company is Facebook’s biggest competitor. He wouldn’t want his wife finding out he bent over his brother’s wife, as she, from what I understand, gives him an allowance and keeps him on a leash.”
“He’s filthy rich. No prize at that winery would be worth killing over.”
“But protecting his secret would be.”
“None of this connects dots that make sense.” I circle back to where we were. “This gambling debt was a tool my father used as a weapon. You need to find out why he needed that weapon because that’s why they both ended up dead.”
“If you’re right, and I believe you are, Faith is now the target.”
“Which is why I’m taking attention and pressure off of her. I’m going to get my bank to buy out the bank note, and we’ve done up dummy documents to make me a key stockholder. That brings the attention to me.”
“Or you trigger a reaction you don’t want by making whoever wants that winery think they can’t have it.”
“Pissed off people make mistakes, and we’ll be watching.”
“Or your actions ensure that history repeats itself. Your father and Meredith Winter got in someone’s way. Now you and Faith are in the way. They died. You two die.”
“And would you suggest I do something differently?”
“No,” he says, standing up, and without another word, heads for the door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Faith
I arrive at the Allure gallery right at nine, parking the BMW in the rear of the gallery, running my hands over the logo on the dash with a smile. And not because it’s a BMW but because it’s this BMW. Because this one is custom, sleek and sexy, just like the man who owns it. I’m just about to exit the car when my phone buzzes with a text from an unfamiliar number and a message. Faith, this is Nick’s assistant, Rita. He’s in a meeting
but wanted you to know the minute the inspectors arrived at the winery. They are there now, and have already checked in with Kasey.
I am pleased by this text. It tells me that Nick listened when we talked. He’s trying to keep me involved and informed. I text Rita back: Thank you. I am looking forward to meeting you.
Rita replies with: When will that happen?
This week I hope, I reply.
Looking forward to it as well. Let me know if you need anything, is her message.
I smile at her offer, but as my mind turns to Kasey, I suddenly feel selfish for being here, not there. He’s dealing with everything I don’t want to deal with and I’ve never put that on him, or taken that off of me. I hit his auto-dial and he answers almost immediately. “Everything is fine,” he says, greeting me. “I’m quite capable, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“You are incredible,” I say. “Which is why I never want to take advantage of you.”
“Please, Faith. Use me. Your mother did.”
“My mother abused you.”
“Okay. Your father used me. Use me like he did, but with less involvement.”
“How is the inspection going?”
“They’re on the other side of the property,” he says, “and we don’t even feel like they’re here. Does this inspection get you out of probate?”
“It’s a step to getting us out of all this mess soon,” I promise, reading the concern beneath his question. The winery has been his life, all his adult life. “And we’re close. The bank note is caught up. The bills will be by Monday. And Thursday, I’m going to talk to you about finally getting you the appreciation you deserve.”
“I don’t need anything from you but some trust. Your father trusted me. Now it’s your turn. Let me run this place.”
“My father would roll over in his grave if he knew I didn’t plan to run the winery.”
“I loved your father, kiddo, but on this he was wrong. His obsession with you running this place was illogical. You have a dream. Most of us never make ours come true. Be the exception.”
“Thank you, Kasey. I’m looking forward to talking Thursday.”
“Me too. Now. Am I safe to promise vendors money by Monday? Because I have someone waiting for me right now.”
“Yes,” I say. “Monday at the latest.”
He lets out a breath. “I have to tell you. I’m relieved.”
“Me too,” I say. “All is well.”
“That is good news for us all.”
We exchange a few more words, and when we disconnect, I am feeling really good about Nick’s idea to offer incentives, maybe even some ownership, to Kasey. He deserves it, and with the financial troubles moving behind us, he’ll be the reason that I can keep the winery and focus on painting.
Exiting the car, I lock up, slip my purse over my head, a flutter of anticipation in my belly as I race toward the door. Sara must see me on a camera somewhere, because she opens the door before I can knock, greeting me in a pink Allure t-shirt. I step inside the gallery and she pulls me into a hug, greeting me with such warmth that I feel like we are old friends. Only I don’t have any old friends and certainly none I’d want to call friend again. It’s not long before I have my own pink Allure t-shirt on and we begin touring the gallery while she shares her vision for the structure of the displays, and actually asks for my thoughts. We get excited together talking about random ideas.
By ten, we enter the private business area, pass the reception area, and several offices before Sara presents me with an office. “This is yours for as long as you can help.” She shoves her long dark hair back from her face. “There is a break room on the other side of the office area with lots of coffee options. And,” she sits down in front of me, “these are all the new artists who have submitted for the gallery’s consideration. I picked my top ten. What I’m hoping is to see what your top ten will be and then we can debate, narrow it down, and take ten options to Chris. He’s basically endorsing them, so he gets the final say, even though he says he trusts me. I want him to pick.”
And they already picked me. Chris Merit endorsed me. “I’m excited to do this.”
“I’m excited to have you here. Take your time. Chris is deeply absorbed in finishing a painting right now, and he won’t look at our picks until he’s done. I just need to pick this weekend. I’m in the back far corner office if you need me, or,” she grabs a sticky note and pen, and scribbles down her number, “just text me.” She laughs. “Because why wouldn’t you text me a few doors down?”
We share a laugh and she leaves me to work. I stare at the painting in front of me, which is, of course, an incredible Chris Merit black and white cityscape. I study the technique and I really don’t notice anything else about the office for a good ten minutes. Only then do I notice bookshelves lining the wall to my left, filled with art books I’d love to study at some point. Right now, though, I have work to do and I remove my purse and I’m about to stick it in a drawer. It’s then that my phone rings and I pull it from my purse and note Nick’s number.
“Hey,” I say, answering. “How is that client situation?”
“Bad. He needs Abel. We’re meeting with him at two. How are things there?”
“Fabulous. I love this place and Sara. Thanks for having Rita text me, Nick.”
“I’m not trying to run your life, Faith,” he says.
“Not on purpose,” I say. “It’s your nature to take control and in case I’ve sent you confusing messages, I do want to be informed, but I feel immense relief to have you handling this situation for me, Nick.”
“I actually need to talk to you about your mother. Were you aware that she had a gambling problem?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “But isn’t that just perfectly priceless. That’s where the money went, isn’t it?”
“That’s where this seems to be headed,” he says.
“And here I thought her only destructive vice was sex.”
“Sex is not a vice.”
“It is when you’re married and fucking half the state,” I say. “Unless of course, my father liked to watch her with other men as she claimed. In which case, he was more screwed up than her. I don’t know why I was hoping for her bank account to save me. I need to save myself.”
“You have me now, Faith.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying to get us to that.”
“Try harder. And just so you know, we should have the new evaluation by tomorrow. I’m meeting with my banker tomorrow to be ready to move the note, but I’m going to decide when to act based on how all the players are responding to the situation at the time.” His intercom buzzes and a female voice I assume to be Rita’s, says, “Devon is melting down again. He’s on the line.”
“I’m not babysitting that stupid crybaby prick,” Nick bites out. “Feel free to tell him that.”
“Now that you got that off your chest,” the woman says. “What would you like to me to say to him?”
“Whatever the hell you want to tell him, Rita.”
“You’re in a deposition,” she says. “Remember that.”
I laugh. “I like Rita.”
“She’s a pain in my ass today.”
“Isn’t everyone?”
“Yes, which is why I really need you here, to fuck me into amnesia. I’d come over there and do a little artistic fucking with you, but I have a lunch thing I need to prep for. Think of me, sweetheart. I’m damn sure thinking of you.” He ends the call and I laugh, but it fades quickly.
I really want to end this nightmare with the bank. I need to do something other than wait on Nick to be my hero. I inhale and tell myself to make the call I know I need to make. Only I don’t even know the number to call. I turn to the MacBook sitting on the desk and key it to life, looking up Pier 111, the business my uncle’s wife founded, and that he helps run. Finding the main number, I punch it into my cellphone.
“Pier 111, can I help you?”
/> “I need Bill Winter, please,” I say.
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Faith Winter.”
“Hold please.” A few beats later she returns. “He’ll call you back. What number can he call you back on?”
I give her my cellphone number and end the call. Why did I even bother to make that call? He’s a bastard. My cellphone starts to ring with an unknown number.
Expecting it’s him, I answer. “Hello.”
“Faith. What a surprise that you called. We’ve needed to talk.”
I open my mouth to ask him about the bank and the value of the winery when it hits me. He’s a bastard. He could try to take it as well. My mind races for a reason for this call. “Faith?” he presses. “Is something wrong?”
“I had a dream last night,” I blurt.
“About?”
“You. My mother claimed that my father liked to watch her with other men. Last night I dreamed that you were one of those men. Were you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Faith
He didn’t say no.
That’s what haunts me for the rest of the afternoon while I sit at my desk evaluating the files Sara gave me. Even after Sara and I dine on Chinese food and enjoy great conversation, I replay it again. And now, at nearly five o’clock, I do it all over again.
“My mother claims that my father liked to watch her with other men. Last night I dreamed that you were one of those men. Were you?”
“Sex is what put us at opposite ends of the world,” he says. “We’re the only Winters left. We need to put the past behind us.”
“That’s a yes,” I say.
“That’s a refusal to discuss my sex life with my niece. How are things at the winery?”
“We are not friends or family,” I say. “I have zero desire to discuss my life with you. I simply wanted to know if you and my father were both sick enough to share my mother. That simple. I got my answer. What I don’t understand is why my father was upset when he found out you fucked her on your own? I mean, what difference does it make? You know what. This was a mistake.”