A creak sounded above him, and he lifted his eyes. When several seconds passed and he heard nothing more, he blew out a breath and rose. All buildings settled, especially at night. Even a monstrous castle.
Checking the woodbin, he found enough to get him through the night, especially since the fireplace was gas-assisted. With the hearth only slightly smaller than the one anchoring the main gathering room at the club, the gentle flame would bring a welcome familiarity.
A few minutes later, he’d collected his go bag from his truck and was kneeling at the hearth adjusting the gas level as the small, tentative flames caught. When they licked and curled around the logs, he rose. Only to be met with a growl of protest from his stomach. Other than the scone he’d had at Sundaram, he hadn’t eaten since morning. His gaze traveled through the windows, across the courtyard, to the back corner of the castle. Where the industrial kitchen sat.
The fire danced and crackled soothingly at his back. Delivery it was.
Another creak had him flickering a look at the south hall as he opened the delivery app. He paused. A small kitchen that serviced the tasting room lay two doors down. He hadn’t searched the cabinets earlier, but maybe he could scavenge enough charcuterie and cheese to get him through the night.
A chuckle rumbled through him at that thought. He’d survived on a lot worse than prosciutto, gourmet salamis, and high-end Napa Valley cheeses before. Yeah, he’d get by. Assuming the cleaners left the kitchen stocked. Those items didn’t tend to go bad quickly so should have been left.
Fifteen minutes later, he sat in front of a roaring fire, a plate stacked high with seven types of cured meats, four cheeses, a bowl of olives, a pile of dried apricots, a mound of marcona almonds, and a stack of crackers. He’d even poured himself a glass of wine, his first-ever taste of the Bacco brand. He’d give credit where credit was due, Alessio made a damn fine zinfandel.
Pulling out his phone as he ate, he typed Justin Flannery’s name into the browser. Several links popped up about his death, although none speculated about the cause. Toward the bottom of the page, he found a few articles about the business he ran with his mom.
As he read one, then another, he admitted the wine accessory business was bigger than he imagined—or bigger than he would have imagined if he’d ever given it any thought. Justin and his mom sold wine pourers, decanters, openers, glasses, chillers, and more. The designs ranged from classic simplicity to whimsical and charming to art deco.
The article included pictures of Flannery, who reminded him of the douche he’d seen at Sundaram that afternoon. What had Helia called him? Derek, that was his name. Yeah, Derek and Justin had a similar look. Lean, well-dressed and -groomed.Tall, but not too tall. Brown hair, brown eyes. Good-looking, he supposed, if not memorable.
A log toppled from the stack, and he rested his gaze on the flames. Was he being paranoid about the reemergence of both men in Helia’s life followed by Justin’s death? Was he using it as an excuse to stay? An excuse to spend time with Helia? He’d left her and the whole valley behind years ago. He didn’t have any right to claim space in her life. Was this his way of doing that without pulling on his big-boy boxers andadmittinghe wanted to spend time with her?
He snorted, then took a sip of his wine. It could be both; he could be using the suspicious timing of the events as an excuse to stayandthey could be a legit concern.
One of those things was easier to deal with than the other, though. Without pausing to overthink it, he sent a quick text to Leo. Thanks to the license plate he’d memorized when the douche fled Sundaram and Leo’s access to certain databases, less than five minutes later, he had the man’s full name and basic deets.
Derek Jason Weber. Thirty-nine years old, resident of Napa. Manager at one of the Michelin-star restaurants—a one-star, though, not a three-star.
He drove a flash car for being the manager of a restaurant, even a high-end one. A lot of people who lived in the valley had family money, though. Derek could be one.
Opening another browser, he started digging. Twenty minutes later, he’d finished his food and wine and knew more about Derek Weber than he had this afternoon, but not enough.
He’d moved to the valley six years earlier when the restaurant hired him, with gigs in San Francisco and Cabo San Lucas before that. He supported several charities and popped up in a range of photos from fundraising runs to galas to feeding the firefighters after the deadly Napa fire.
He appeared to be an all-around decent guy, but the dirt on either Derek or Justin wouldn’t be found in news articles and write-ups of charity events. Logging on to the club’s fake social media account—one they used to dig into people’s lives without giving themselves away—he started scouring personal pages.
The further he delved into his search, the more posts he found that included both men: pictures of them raising wineglasses at a charity tasting event, sharing a beer after a fun run, laughing with two women at what looked like a black-tie New Year’s party. It could all mean nothing, though. Both appeared popular on the charity scene, and the valley wasn’t that big.
Clicking on yet another charity event page, his breath caught at the first picture. Derek and Justin, dressed in tuxes, flanked his father. All three held glasses of sparkling wine. All three smiling for the camera.
Forcing a slow inhale, he turned away from the image. The twisting beauty of the flames soothing him as he absorbed what he’d just seen. For the first time in seventeen years, he’d laid eyes on Roger Wilde. With two men linked to Helia.
Drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair, he contemplated that last thought. He had no wish to see any more photos of Roger, but his memories of the man were just that, memories. Justin and Derek posed a more pressing, timely, problem. If the three men were connected in any way, he needed to know.
Bracing himself, he returned his attention to his phone and typed Roger’s name into one of the social media apps. Twenty minutes later, he set it back down, what hehadn’tfound more interesting than what he had. Roger, Derek, and Justin had a lot of pictures with the same people at the same events, but very few together.
Taking the last sip of his wine, the soft glow of the fire easing the tension in his body, he considered continuing his research. But finding out about his father’s death, driving to Napa, seeing Helia again, then learning about Derek and Justin made for a long day.
He had time to dig more tomorrow. For now, he deserved another glass of wine and a quiet session in front of the fire with his e-book.
CHAPTER SIX
Helia rolled her head against her silk pillowcase and looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes before her alarm was set to go off at five thirty. She’d nevernotwoken up before her alarm and often wondered if that was a blessing or a curse. She liked having a few minutes to enjoy the coziness of her bed, but some mornings, a little extra sleep wouldn’t go amiss.
Not worried about falling back asleep, she turned the alarm off. In the early-morning quiet, she picked out the familiar hum of Sundaram preparing for a morning wedding. The shuffling of feet across the courtyard as the team carried over the last of the flowers to the ceremony location. A burst of laughter, muffled in the morning darkness. The beep of a truck backing up near the kitchen; the last of the food supplies for Akin.
As the sounds faded in and out, her mind drifted to Collin. And to him sleeping in that massive house all alone. She could have invited him to stay with her, but she only had one bed. And while he’d grown into a man she’d look at more than twice if she saw him in a bar or restaurant, their history stretched between them. It didn’t make her uncomfortable—or him, it appeared—but he had enough on his plate that she didn’t need to dredgethatpast up.
Still, she didn’t like the idea of him in that huge place all alone. It was creepy and hollow and a little cold. But the memories were probably worse than any physical discomfort.
