“It does if the real treasure isn’t the vines, but the property.”
“You’ve said this before, but what treasure, Nick? What could it be?”
“The options are many: A highway or development coming through here that he’s gotten an ear on. Some natural resource. Leverage on another deal. Even some sort of big-dick play for his wife. See me. I have this family vineyard worth forty million dollars. I’m the man. The reasons are many and they don’t matter at this very moment. Bottom line, I don’t believe this is an accident even if it ends up staged as an accident. And about those cameras that I just ordered Beck to put in place. Those are between you, me, and him. No one else.”
“Not even Kasey?”
“No one. And it’s not about me not trusting him. I don’t know him to trust him or not trust him at this point. But even if I trusted him, we have to worry about who he might decide to trust himself. There’s a saying I never forget: Betrayal doesn’t come from your enemies.”
“That’s the bitter hardcore truth,” I say, turning us down the drive to the mansion, the now familiar flutter of dread in my belly. It’s present every single time I’ve come here since my father’s death, no matter how many times I come here, and even when I was living here. I pull us up to the valet area, and Kasey waits for Nick and me at the top of the steps, his gray suit uncharacteristically rumpled, his thick, dark graying hair also in rare disarray, as if he’d been running his fingers through it.
Nick and I walk up the steps and the two men greet each other, shaking hands. “We aren’t saving those vines, are we?” Nick says, giving him a keen look.
Kasey’s hands settle under his jacket on his hips, his expression stark. “No,” he says, proving Nick has read him right. “Now we just need to stop the bleeding of gallons of water, and start thinking about recovery. A witness saw two teenage boys in the fields but that makes no sense to me. The pipes were hammered and broken in numerous locations.”
“Do we need to go out to the vineyard?” Nick asks.
“Every staffer I could get my hands on is out there, knee high in water with buckets,” Kasey replies. “You don’t want to be out there.”
“Knee high,” I murmur, acceptance sliding through me. “Yeah. The vines are lost.”
Nick’s phone buzzes with a text and he pulls it from his pocket, reads it and says, “Rita has a team on the way.”
Several customers exit the door behind Kasey at the same moment the crew Rita sent turns down the driveway. From there, chaos erupts. I leave the vineyard to Nick and Kasey, while the customers are mine to manage. It’s nearly two hours later that the guests are cleared out of the mansion, the staff that can be sent home are home, and I find my way to the closed restaurant, and sit down at a corner table, a number of things rushing through my mind. One of them is giving whoever did this exactly what they want. I need to sell this place. But I won’t be bullied into doing it now or to sell to any one person.
Nick appears in the entrance and crosses to sit next to me, his hand on my leg. “The crew is good. They shut down the water flow in ten minutes, and they’re extracting the water. We’ll get the right kind of teams out here tomorrow to start the repair process.”
“Thank you, Nick, for helping.”
“No thanks needed. Ever. You okay, sweetheart?”
“Whoever did this won.”
“No. They did not. We’ll rebuild the west vineyard.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I rotate to face him, the realization coming to me. “Keeping this place wasn’t just about satisfying my family legacy for my father. It was safe, although that’s almost a laughable statement right now.”
“An excuse to fail at your art.”
My throat tightens. “How did you know that? I didn’t even know that until just a few moments ago.”
“I pay attention,” he says, and not for the first time. “I care. Everyone was telling you that you’d fail, and this place was both a sanctuary and a prison. But you need to think about this when we’re out of the heat of this fire.”
“I want to sell it, Nick, but I have to rebuild those vines first or it won’t give me a nest egg.”
“Agreed and anyone who thought I’d let you be crazy enough to sell it under those conditions, didn’t think ahead. A year from now, we can not only have it rebuilt, we’ll have time to figure out the hidden value. We’ll get you that nest egg, sweetheart, and I have a pretty good nest egg for us both.”
Trying really hard to get out of my past and my own head, I don’t reject that idea. Instead, I press my hand to his face. “Is it okay if I contribute to it?”
He presses my hand to his lips. “I’m really turned on by the idea of having a famously wealthy artist in my bed.”
My lips curve. “That was a pretty perfect thing to say for such an arrogant bastard.”
“Even arrogant bastards have our moments.”
Footsteps sound and a frazzled-looking Kasey appears and he doesn’t hesitate to cross the room to sit with us. “I need to know a number of things,” he says, his focus landing on Nick. “You’re a stockholder now? Because Rita said that you are.”
“I am,” Nick says, “which means you have the resources to fix today’s problems.”
“You’ll want a return,” he says. “Do you plan to sell?”
Nick squeezes my leg. “Have you heard a rumor?”
“This place has always drawn offers,” he says, “and you’re filthy rich, man. Money loves money.”
“Did my father consider selling?” I ask. “Is that why you assume I will?”
“You know your father would never let go of this place, though yes. People tried to buy it.”
“What is it about this winery that makes people want it?” Nick asks.
“We are part of the core history of Sonoma,” he says. “It appeals to buyers. I know one wanted to restore the house and get it designated as some sort of landmark.” He refocuses on Nick. “Are you going to force a sale?”
“I don’t need a return,” Nick says. “I’m here for Faith. And what she wants, I will make happen.”
His attention turns to me. “Are you going to sell?”
“I’d be a fool to sell now,” I say. “I’d lose money.”
“That’s a maybe,” Kasey says. “Just not now.”
“Not for a long time,” I correct.
“And now you’re devoted to being here and fixing things,” he assumes.
“No,” I say. “I’d like to offer you a new compensation package with bonuses. And if I sell, I’ll include an incentive for you. I want to take care of you.”
“Are you saying you’re going to let go of the day-to-day operations?” he presses.
“I’m moving to San Francisco with Nick, unless you tell me I need to be here to run this place?”
“You don’t,” Kasey says. “You’re free.”
Free. Am I ever really free of this place as long as I own it? I have to try to be. “Would you like to take over the living quarters in the mansion?” I offer.
His eyes narrow. “You’re offering me the mansion?” His tone is incredulous.
“Yes,” I say. “Rent free.”
“I’ll draft a contract with your compensation,” Nick interjects. “We’ll include the mansion, but I will need you to work with my team to manage the finances. If this sounds acceptable to you?”
“It does,” he says, looking at me. “This place was never your place.”
“No,” I say. “But it has always been your place.”
“Yes,” he says. “It has been. And yes. I want the mansion quarters.”
“Great,” I say. “I ah…I haven’t cleared out my mother’s things.”
“I wondered about that,” he says. “I can do it.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Donate what you don’t want. And my mother’s car. It’s yours. Sell it. Keep it. Whatever you want. I’ll sign the title over to you.”
“We’ll authorize additional staf
f as well,” Nick says. “Someone to report to you, but do what Faith would have done to support you.” Nick grabs a paper napkin. “Can I borrow your pen?”
Kasey removes it from his pocket and Nick sets it on his knee, writes down a number and a percentage, showing it to me for confirmation. I nod at the numbers that equal a substantial, and deserved, pay increase for Kasey. Nick slides it in front of him. Kasey looks at it and then between us. “Very generous. Thank you. And on that note, I’m going to go check on the work crew.”
Nick quickly adds, “Coordinate with Rita to get a new team out here to start the repair process.”
He gives an incline of his chin, stands up, and leaves. “Could a historical marker be a reason to want this place?” I ask when he disappears around the corner, while Nick sends a text message.
“I don’t know enough about that topic to say, but we’ll find out. I just told Rita and Beck to investigate in different ways, but I’m doubtful. Otherwise your father would have done it on his own and pushed up the value of the winery.”
“Unless it costs a lot of money to do it, and my mother was gambling then, too,” I say.
He glances over at me. “Good point.”
A thought hits me. “And I’m officially brilliant,” I murmur. “I just gave him the only working car I have.”
Nick turns to face me. “Don’t get angry, but—”
“You had it fixed.”
“Weeks ago and that old car is beneath my woman. We’ll buy you something you want that I know is safe.”
“You can’t just—”
He leans in and kisses me. “Give him both cars, Faith. And if you don’t want something new, there’s two cars to choose from.”
“You’d let me drive your Audi instead of your BMW?”
“Fuck. I must be in love because, yes. I’ll not only let you drive it. I’ll let you call the damn thing your own if you—”
I lean in and kiss him. He cups my head and slants his mouth over mine, his tongue licking into my mouth before he glances at his watch and says, “It’s half past, you should be naked and riding my cock right now.”
“That’s crass and horrible.”
“And it turns you on, right?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
He laughs. “Let’s get out of here.”
***
Leaving the winery behind in the many ways that currently apply, comes with relief, but arriving to the house I’d bought as an escape from it doesn’t feel like an escape anymore. It feels like a part of that excuse this entire town had, unknowingly, become to me. Once we’re on the porch, we find packaging left by FedEx to package up my art. Nick and I pull them inside and start carrying the supplies upstairs. Once we set the first lot down, he heads for the stairs. “I’ll get the rest, sweetheart.”
Scanning the work I’ll soon ship off to L.A., my attention lingers on the painting of Nick—his eyes, and the secrets in their depths, my focus. I don’t have any secrets left. He knows who I am. He knows what I am and yet, still he holds back. I grapple with an array of varied thoughts, and where they lead me, but Nick’s footsteps sound before I reach a conclusion.
I walk to the floor-to-ceiling window and stare out at the night sky, the canvas of a full moon and the twinkle of at least a dozen stars. Nick steps to my side, his hand at my waist, a possessive quality to his touch. “You need a studio like this in San Francisco. We’ll hire someone to build it or we’ll just buy another house.”
I face him. “You want to buy a new house because of me?”
“I want a place that you feel is yours, not mine.”
“Because I didn’t pack this one up to take with me?”
“I want you to feel like you’re home. Like you did here.”
Like I did here, I think, those thoughts I’d started to have when he’d been downstairs charging at me again. “The day I moved into this house with all my renovations done, I stood right here and watched the sun set, and told myself: Now I could be happy in this town. But once the sun set, do you know what I did? Nothing. I didn’t paint. I built this beautiful studio and told myself it would inspire me, but I didn’t paint. And when I was packing today, your words kept coming to me.”
“My words?”
“You said you don’t like who I am here. And I don’t like who I am here. So, no. I don’t want to take a lot of my stuff with me. This place was a placeholder. It’s time to move on. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home, to San Francisco, with you, Nick. Tonight. Or tomorrow when FedEx picks up my art.”
“Then we’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Good. But I do think that, if I’m honest with you, I’m not without hesitation. I keep thinking that you will break me or me you.”
“We’ve already determined that we’re both broken. But we’re better together than we are apart.”
“Anything too good to be true, is too good to be true.”
“Sometimes it’s just good, sweetheart.”
“But you’re not a good guy, Nick, remember?”
“I’m not good,” he says, “but I’m a hell-of-a lot better with you than without you.”
“Then you need to confess your sins, Nick.”
He goes completely, utterly still. “What sins, Faith?”
“The ones you haven’t told me. The ones you don’t want to tell me. Trust me that much. Because it’s not about what you haven’t told me that feeds distrust. It’s about your unwillingness to tell me.”
He snags my hips and pulls me to him. “When I’m ready, remember?”
“Yes. Agreed. But I’m already exposed and on the line with you, more so than ever by moving to the city with you. So, when do you think you’ll be ready?”
“When I’ve made it impossible for you to live without me.”
“Because you think I’ll want to leave when you expose yourself?”
“Yes,” he says, solemnly. “I do. But you need to know that I’ll fight for you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nick
Tonight, I tell Faith about the club.
After a hell of a good weekend with Faith, I arrive to work early Monday with that vow in my mind, and a sense of relief. Not only will she know that I owned the club, she’ll know that I sold it, and that she was far more important to me than it ever was.
By eight, I’ve already drafted Kasey’s documents, contacted Faith, and sent them to her to review. Rita shows up about the time I’ve hit send, dressed in a red dress, with the red headed attitude. “Oh look,” she says, waving her hands over her voluptuous figure. “We match. Your tie and my dress. Aren’t we adorable?”
I give her a deadpan look. “Sometimes I think you forget it’s me you work for.”
“Sometimes, I think you forget it’s me that works for you. And moving on. Landmark properties. It comes with regulations on property improvement, but the potential to create a tax-exempt organization.”
“Yeah. No. That would be tricky and potentially illegal.”
“Everyone doesn’t care as you know.” She sets a document on my desk. “That is the detailed breakdown, but from what I can tell, it might push up revenues, but not much. And I still cannot find any documentation that indicates a development, highway or otherwise, that would affect Reid Winter Winery. As for oil or minerals, there’s certainly been gold and various other findings in the state, but nothing specifically in Sonoma or on that property. At least, not that is properly documented.”
The same answers Beck gave me yesterday, but I’m still not satisfied. North walks into my office, still just as Clark Kent, super geeky, but extra damn skinny. “Did you almost die or what?”
“Yes,” he says, shoving his thick glasses up his nose. “I did.”
“You’re fine now?”
“Yes.”
I eye Rita. “Have him do everything you already did on Reid Winter Winery. See if he finds anything else.”
“Typical Nick Rogers,” she says, not even the slightest bit offende
d. She sets a stack of documents on my desk and spreads them out. “Sign. Sign. Review. Review. Sign. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” She heads for the door and motions to North. “Follow.”
They exit my office and my cellphone rings and a glance tells me it’s Beck. “Tell me something I fucking want to hear for once,” I say.
“Well, hello sunshine,” he replies dryly. “Fuck you in the morning, too. You never asked about flag dude again.”
“I wasn’t aware I needed to micromanage you to do your job. What about him?”
“Jess Wild. Ex-CIA. Does contract-to-hire work and makes my kind of bank.”
“Which tells us what?”
“He has a thing for wine. He spent time in wine country investigating a French operative who also liked wine.”
“You’re telling me he was vacationing?”
“I’m telling you he showed up there last week, at the same time that a married female executive of Davenport Data showed up. And since he’s banging her, we suspect she’s either his client or his target.”
“Does she connect to Faith or anyone connected to Faith?”
“Not that we know of, but we aren’t stupid, despite your general opinion that we are. Banging a powerful hot chick as a cover is what I’d call brilliant. We’re watching him.”
“And the problems at the winery?”
“I have nothing new. Obviously, someone is still squeezing Faith to sell. And all I can say, is history—”
“Do not repeat that history repeats shit again.”
He changes the subject. “I hacked the autopsy report again.”
“And?”
“The written form filled out to order the proper testing was scanned and marked correctly, but when it was input into the database for actual completion the data was incorrect. The important tests were left off. It could have been an input error but per the internal memos, the person who input it insists she didn’t make an error.”
“It was hacked.”
“That’s my conclusion,” he says. “Someone knew you ordered the autopsy and made sure certain toxins were not checked for. And we both know that there are substances that won’t show up if you aren’t looking for them.”