“Nonsense. You’re at Hollis Ridge. We don’t drink water when there’s Blackwood Estate on the table.” He handed her the glass. His fingers brushed hers—deliberate. “Best winery in the county. I’ve been telling the owners for years they ought to let me buy the label and be done with it.”
He glanced toward the doorway where Cal stood. Wade’s chest expanded, a predator’s pride.
“See, you brought the boy,” Wade said. “Good. Best horseman in the state, this one. Though I still say he works too hard for his money. A man with his pedigree shouldn’t have to get his hands dirty unless he’s holding a glass.”
Cal didn’t move. He stayed near the shadows of the door, saying nothing.
Wade turned back to Izzy, settling into a leather chair that looked like a throne. “So, tell me. What’ve you been doing with yourself since you got here?”
Izzy took a sip. The bourbon was dangerously good. “A little riding,” she said. “And I stumbled into a bit of a treasure trove.”
The room went still. Wade studied her over the rim of his glass. “A treasure trove, huh? Do tell.”
“Old cabin. Up near the ridge line. Twenty-seven years of work… left there.”
Wade didn’t blink. “Lot of shacks in these woods, darlin’.”
“Not like this one. Near your property line. On Grant’s land.”
The name hit the air like a stone in a well. Wade adjusted. Barely. A shift of his weight in the leather.
“C. Vale,” she added.
Recognition flickered—a pilot light catching. Then it was gone.
“Well now,” Wade said. “That does sound familiar. There was a girl back then. Artist. Stayed out near Talley’s place.” He gave a quiet, dismissive hum. “Wouldn’t go calling it a treasure trove yet. She was more of a… passing fancy.”
“She went missing,” Izzy said.
Wade’s brow shifted. Not surprised. Not alarmed.
“Did she?”
“Reopened the case this morning,” Izzy said. “I’m trying to understand what happened. You remember anything?”
Wade leaned back. He looked around the room—at the stone, the timber, the wealth.
“Vaguely. I was building an empire back then, darlin’. Land deals. Development. I didn’t have time for the comings and goings of a wandering painter.”
He met her eyes. The charm was there, but the shade underneath had moved closer to the surface.
“People come up here thinking they can handle the mountain,” he said softly. “Then it reminds them they can’t.”
“Or something else does,” Izzy said.
Wade held her gaze until it became a dare. Then, he smiled.
“Well,” he said, setting his glass down with a definitive clack. “If the Sheriff is on it, I’m sure he’ll find whatever there is to find.”
He stood up, ending the interview. But before he turned away, his eyes raked over her one last time.
“Stay for dinner, darlin’. I like having something beautiful at the table.”
* * *
They didn’t leave the house right away.
Wade kept them long enough—another pass at the fireplace, a few controlled questions that sounded like a deposition masked as a chat. By the time they stepped back outside, the air felt different. Looser. But Izzy didn’t miss the way the house watched them leave.
