Five minuteslater we pulled into the car park of a newly renovated villa. The crisp signage out front readThe Decanter Room. Since many of the vineyard-based restaurants operated under limited hours during the winter season, I’d opted to trust the promising early reviews of a newly opened wine bar. The menu offered a good selection of Spanish tapas along with an impressive wine-by-the-glass selection. With the lunch hour well and truly finished, the place remained busy. A good sign.
As the designated driver, Nick opted for a low-alcohol beer while I paid homage to the wine that first elevated New Zealand vintners onto the world stage—a mouth-watering local Sauvignon Blanc.
Nick eyed my choice with a raised brow. “I thought you preferred reds?”
“I do. But this isn’t red country, grasshopper, at least not the ones I love. When in Rome...” I circled my hand in the air and didn’t bother to finish.
Nick raised his beer in a toast. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Tomorrow, we’ll hit a brewery,” I promised, a comment, which earned me a toe-curling smile that went all the way to my dick.
We clinked glasses and sat in silence, sipping on our drinks and digesting what we’d learned. It was one of the best things about us. We could talk or not talk and be happy and relaxed. I was as much at ease with Nick in the silences as I was in our discussions. Without even trying, we seemed to have thatthingother couples talked about. The ability to have silent conversations. I’d always thought that stuff was a bunch ofbullshit spouted by happy couples just to make the rest of us feel inadequate. Now? Not so much.
Nick was processing hard, swan-on-the-water style—calm on top and paddling frantically beneath the surface. There was a lot to talk about, and I had a ton of questions, but where to begin. Waiting for him to meet my eye was a good place to start. Before that happened, I knew he wouldn’t be ready. Words came easily to me, entire tomes of them with barely any effort at all. But Nick needed to get his feelings in some kind of order first. Pull them apart and consider each one carefully. Only then could he frame them into a sentence.
And so, I waited, enjoying the wine bar’s charming interior. A hearty fire crackled in the corner with fresh logs waiting on the stone hearth to the side. Dark wood and plush-cushioned booths sat alongside a selection of small intimate tables, and a beautiful hand-hewn wooden bar spanned the length of one wall. The ambience was welcoming and lux, a place to enjoy good food and wine when the weather outside was bitterly cold and grey.
For the warmer climes of summer, when temperatures in Marlborough soared into the thirties, the backyard offered a large outdoor patio covered in trellising and planted with grape vines, providing ample shade for those long summer lunches.
When the first of the shared plates of food arrived at our table—grilled octopus with mojo verde sauce—Nick caught my eye and set his glass on the table. “Eat a little then talk?”
“You read my mind.”
He forked a thick tentacle up to his mouth, took a bite, and closed his eyes in pleasure. “Sooo good.” He held what was left of the tentacle toward me and winked. “Open wide, baby.”
The fucker.
Heat raced into my cheeks and I glanced around the other occupied tables. Reassured no one was watching, I rolled myeyes and did as he said, unable to stifle a groan as tender flesh and complex flavours filled my mouth.
“Jesus, that’s good.” I wiped my lips with the serviette before grabbing my own fork. “Cooked to perfection.”
“Right?” Nick dug in for more just as three more small plates arrived. Freshly baked sourdough with fermented butter, shrimp in garlic sauce, and lamb cutlets with romesco.
Once the server had gone, Nick again caught my gaze. “So...”
I grinned. “I take it you’re ready to talk then?”
He nodded, and we spent the next forty-five minutes and three more delicious plates of food, discussing everything that had happened that morning and the day before. By the time we were done, the clock had ticked over three thirty and there was only one other table left occupied in the restaurant.
“This whole thing could be nothing more than a storm in a teacup, you understand that, right?” I cautioned, running the last piece of sourdough over my plate to scoop up any remaining dregs. “Just because we don’t like the guy doesn’t mean he genuinely has nefarious plans for your mother.”
Nick blew a frustrated sigh. “Yeah, I know. But you have to admit, it doesn’t look good. Not telling her about the extra debit card. Taking her car. Isolating her. Changing her password. Taking over her finances. Continually telling her how unreliable her memory is. And I don’t believe for a minute Chloe lost that cell phone. According to her, she didn’t leave the house after we left. It all feels contrived, all of it.”
“You really think he’s after her money.” That part I got, and I happened to agree. “He’s manipulating her with the end goal of moving her into his home so he can have control over everything.”
Nick shrugged. “Pretty much. I think Austin’s pissed about his father’s will and only getting fifty grand up front. And Ithink he sees his future inheritance being eaten up by the cost of residential care. I think he wants Chloe under his own roof so he can minimise that cost for as long as possible. And I think you see it too.”
I did. But I wanted him to be the first to say it. “That’s no small accusation.”
Nick nodded. “But I think he needs the money for some reason. That money pit of a house and his job just don’t add up. Maybe he stretched himself to the eyeballs to buy it. I won’t know until I can get a check done on his financials.”
I narrowed my eyes, not liking where this was going. “That would be a neat trick considering you don’t work in the financial crimes unit anymore.”
Nick’s gaze slid sideways to the window, and oh boy, I knew that look. “I have a friend in the department,” he said, still not meeting my gaze. “Jacko. I think he’d be willing to help, on the quiet. I did him a solid a few years back. Dredged up some critical information that helped to extract his daughter from a legal minefield after her marriage broke apart.”
I stared, open-mouthed, across the table. “You realise you’re talking about breaking the law here. No, you’re talking about asking yourfriendto break the lawforyou.”
Nick didn’t move, but a deep flush cut across his cheeks and his grey eyes returned to mine. “We’re also talking about mymother’ssafety, Mads. Besides, it’s nothing more than I did for Jacko. We’ve bent the law before. When it mattered, right?”
