Knowing Vera (Romantic Suspense, Family Drama) (Chance for Love) (9 page)

My head throbs to the techno beat on the car stereo. I crack open my eyes and stretch, but a pair of muscular arms enclose me. There’s a crick in my neck and I struggle to push the arms aside. It’s Cliff, of course, smelling like tobacco, strong aftershave and warm male.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he says with a satisfied smirk. “Tell me what’s better? Cruising in this Range Rover or bouncing along with stumpy in a Toyota?”

I elbow him hard. “Leave Zach alone. And that goes for you in the front, too.”

“Oh … feisty, aren’t we?” Cliff tightens his hold and brushes his hand over my breast.

My teeth gritting, I swat his paw and snap, “Where’s Zach? And how did you find us?”

“When you’re with a guy with half a leg, you’re pretty conspicuous. Oh, and as for Double-crossing Debbie? I promised her a date with Ben,” he nods at the driver, “and she rolled out of the seat right after you snapped that picture. A few kissy faces, and she let me in on your plan, which, by the way, was my plan all along.”

Ben whistles over his shoulder. “We were at the Sydney airport waiting for you. Zach was just an insignificant complication.”

I fumble for my purse when I see it on the floor. Cliff’s stupid picture’s still on my cell but the battery’s low, and my charger’s in my luggage on its way to Melbourne. If only I knew the emergency number here …

I glare at Cliff, hoping to take his focus off my phone. “Was Zach okay? Why did we leave?”

“He’s not our friend, and I’m sure the police are taking care of him. Meanwhile, me and you have an appointment.” Cliff snatches the phone from me.

“Give it back. I need to text Zach.”

“Nope, sorry. You’re with me now. Looks like Zach lost this round.” He sounds entirely too self-satisfied.

“This isn’t a game. Am I free to leave?” I know I sound stupid, but I’m not exactly in a position to escape, traveling at more than eighty miles per hour on an expressway. I shove Cliff aside and scoot toward my side of the bench seat.

“Excuse me? I’m the one who’s supposed to watch over you. Why did you go with Zach? You and I both know he has reason to hate you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stare at the flat, straight, boring road lined with shrubs and eucalyptus trees.

The guy in the passenger seat says, “We’re your bodyguards—tenth degree black belts. By the way, I’m Dex and he’s Ben.”

Tenth degree, my foot. They look like they’re barely out of their teens. Identical twins. I’m going to have a hard time keeping them straight. And who names their sons Ben and Dex? Sounds like a clown show at an ice cream store.

“Yeah, yeah, why would I need bodyguards?” If anything, I need a guard from Cliff, sitting there exuding bad-to-the-bone macho pheromones.

Cliff scowls at me. “Zach’s trying kill you and make it look like an accident. If we hadn’t gotten there, he would have conked you on the head and claimed you died in the wreck.”

Dex cracks his knuckles and sneers. “Too bad for him. I saw the police take him in. Driving with a stump.”

“Stop making fun of him.” I kick the seat in front of me.

“Just telling it like it is.” Cliff purses his lips as if he’s sympathetic. “Why did he insist on coming along when your uncle got the tickets for us? It’s not like he’s your boyfriend or anything.”

“He’s a friend, and I like him.” Why do I have to explain myself to these bozos?

Cliff opens a bottle of water and offers it to me. “You’re dehydrated, fainting, probably hungry. What better way of murdering you than to get lost in the bush and claim he can’t find you?”

“Yeah, or his car breaks down and he hitchhikes for help and leaves you stranded,” Dex pipes in.

“In fact,” Cliff says, “he took you into the airplane loo while the seatbelt signs were flashing. He could have slammed you against the wall and given you a concussion. Your face was really flushed when you came out.”

I avoid his leer, my cheeks heating from the memories of my former escapades. Zach and I used to like doing it against a wall—back when he had two legs, thick as tree trunks. Biker’s legs. I’m beginning to understand why he shies away now. He’s afraid I’ll compare him to his former self.

Irritation mounts, and I cross my arms to cover my breasts. “Zach doesn’t want to kill me. You guys are imagining things. For what reason, I have no clue.”

“Yeah, well, you trust your uncle, don’t you?” Cliff says. “Aren’t you at all interested in your father?”

My heart lurches, and I sit up straighter. “Is he alive?”

“Do we trust her?” Ben turns, his eyes slithering between Dex and Cliff.

“That’s enough,” Dex slams the dashboard. “No more talking until we verify her identity.”

Great. Just wonderful. Stuck between Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dummer. Try as I might to calm it, my heart skitters. I might be meeting my father soon. But first, I’ll show I’m not afraid of them.

“Zach will find me somehow.” I jut my chin. “He might be telling the police right now to come after us. He could have noted the license plate number.”

“You still think he’s on your side.” Cliff snickers. “I hate to break it to you, but he knows who you are. You think he’s stupid? Doesn’t know how to do an internet search?”

“But he thinks his mother died of a congenital heart condition.”

Cliff shakes his head as if I’m an idiot. “That’s a line he’s telling you to put you off guard. He thinks your dad’s the killer, and you’re the bait.”

“No, no, wait. You said he thinks. Does this mean my father is not the killer?”

Cliff looks at Dex who tilts his head, as if deciding whether to tell me or not.

“Is my father the killer or not?” I demand.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Dex intones arrogantly.

I tick my fingers. “Let me get this straight. Zach wants to kill me because he thinks my father killed his mother and that’s why he followed me to Australia.”

“Too right,” Cliff says. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

“Humph! I’m not sure I believe anything you say. Zach is a sweet and kind-hearted man.”

“You never wondered why a guy with women all over him is fixated on you?”

I glare at him. “Because he’s interested in me.”

“You’re hot, sister, but not his type. He’s got a blond-haired, blue-eyed fiancée waiting for him at home. Doesn’t he, Dex?”

Dex flips the cover open on his tablet. “Check out these pictures.”

I turn away from him and refuse to look. Cliff takes the tablet and swings it in front of my face, but I shut my eyes and cover my ears. “Na, na, na, na, na, I didn’t see anything.”

Bunch of jerks! Even if I were curious, I’m not about to show them I care. Instead, I cross my arms and pout.

They go into guy-speak mode, talking about the woman’s body parts and how Zach looks like a dweeb, and speculate if she’s going to break the engagement now that Zach’s disabled.

Cold sweat combined with the air conditioning chills my forehead. If Zach were planning on marrying, why is he pursuing me? Maybe I’m just another plaything, a woman to be sampled on the buffet table of tastes, colors, and cultures—adding diversity to his bedroom.

After they quiet down, I steer Cliff back to what I’m interested in. “If my father’s not the killer why did he jump? That’s what my mom says.”

Cliff’s jaw tenses. “He was being framed by Zach’s father. His word against a white man’s. Who do you think the police would believe?”

A pang goes through my gut. “Did he survive the fall off the bridge? You sound like you’ve spoken to him.”

Dex drills Cliff with another warning glare, so Cliff shrugs.

“I still don’t see why my father left us,” I say petulantly to instigate him for more information. “If he were innocent, he could have worked with the police. Not everyone’s biased.”

“Pffuh!” Cliff almost spits. “Your father was an illegal alien. You didn’t know?”

My world spins, and I gape at him. Zach’s words return to me.
Is your father on the run? Illegal alien?

Cliff jiggles my arm. “You look thunderstruck, like you’re remembering something.”

I place my forehead on the windowsill. “No, it’s nothing.”

We’re somewhere on Highway 31, and the towns are far between. The earth is dusty orange, and trees are scarce.

When I get a chance, I’ll contact Zach and let him explain.

Any man who can make my body sing as high as heaven can’t be playing me. Not with eyes so true blue, that meltdown smile, and a dog named Bing-Bing.

The Range Rover swings off the expressway onto a two lane road. We’ve already driven most of the day, and the sun is setting. The sparse landscape is interrupted by towns with names like Gundagai, Wodonga, and Alexandra—the last one looking like a movie set from an old western, complete with bakery, saloon, antique shops, and a hotel sporting wraparound porches on both floors. Of course, they have the obligatory Chinese restaurant. Cliff makes sure to nudge me as we drive by, as if I have anything to do with it.

I can’t get over how blue the sky is, so much like Zach’s eyes. Clear and sparkling. The air is more humid than I’m used to, but the land looks dry and flat, with clumps of eucalyptus, or what Cliff calls gum trees, lining the road.

After a few miles, the road gets windier, and lusher vegetation fills the forest. It’s breathtakingly beautiful, something I should have gotten to enjoy on an excursion with Zach. But then, I have to remember he’s on the opposing side when it comes to my father.

Ben takes each curve at high speed, and I’m barely blinking at the cars coming head-on from the right, especially around the tight turns.

The trees are taller and straighter, almost like the redwoods back home on La Honda road. They cast shadows so deep it alternates with the glare of the sun. I ask Cliff what they are, and he says they’re mountain ash. Lower down, ferns and lacey fronds decorate the openings between the road and the tree trunks. Cliff says they’re cycads.

He’s trying to impress me by talking in a snooty fake British accent, but I’m having none of that. I’m tired, grumpy, and the few stops we made for food and drink were heavily guarded. No purse allowed in the restroom, and Cliff escorting me to and from the tables.

I kick his ankle. “You should at least let me call my mom so she’ll know I’m safe.”

He peels his arm from the seatback and pats my hand, which I quickly tuck under my armpit.

“I’ve already told your uncle you’ve arrived,” he says. “But what was I going to tell him? That Zach almost killed you in a car accident?”

I kick him harder, and he grabs my knee. “We’re almost there.”

“Where is there?” I watch the greenery whiz by me.

“This is Maroondah Highway, the scenic route through the mountains straight into the wine country.” Cliff says in a tour-bus operator voice.

I roll my eyes. He’d be really annoying if he weren’t so easy on the eyes.

He taps my arm. “Aren’t you at all curious about Zach and his family?”

“Sure, if I can believe your lies. What’s in it for you?”

His olive-toned face widens into a grin. “Besides the obvious? Adventure, fun, and you.”

“That last one will never happen. So, where are we going?”

“Ping Crest Winery.” He tosses his dark brown mane. “Formerly called Spencer Colony Estates. Ring a bell?”

“Spencer? Zach’s family name?”

Dex turns and smirks. “Yep, betcha Zach forgot to tell you they’re poor as red dirt.”

“Not that it matters to me,” I quickly reply. “I just assumed they own the winery he talked about.”

“No more. It’s owned by Chinese.” Dex’s eyes squint with glee as he drags out
Chii-neese
.

“So where do they live now?” I ask as casually as I can.

“They still owe Mr. Ping millions of dollars,” Cliff explains. “When they couldn’t pay, they went bankrupt and auctioned off their properties, one by one. Think all they have left is the bed and breakfast, a stupid fruit stand and maybe a few dwindling offshore accounts.”

I remember this is Cliff’s version of the story. Zach didn’t exactly say we were going to visit his family winery. He only mentioned Aunt Addy’s bed and breakfast. If I can get my hands on a smartphone, I should be able to find the bed and breakfast and get in touch with him.

We’re descending the mountain, and the trees are becoming shrubbier, not as tall and majestic as the forest. There are electrical poles and wires along the road, so we must be arriving somewhere. Farms and ranches come into view. And then I see them. Rows and rows of grapevines just like along the highways in California.

“Bet you didn’t know this is premier wine country,” Cliff says. “There are hundreds of vineyards, some tucked in the foothills, the river valleys, even surrounding Port Phillip Bay. I’ll take you sailing some time after you meet your father.”

I sit ramrod straight. “He’s alive? And here?”

Ben slows and turns his head. “She hasn’t been positively ID’ed yet. Boss ain’t gonna like it if she squeals.”

My heart is flipping out. My father. Is it possible?

“I won’t say anything.” I tap the seatback. “Do you have any recent pictures of him? I’m sure I’d recognize him.”

“You don’t get it,” Dex says. “He saw you on YouTube and thinks you’re his daughter, but we’re not letting you near him until we run a paternity test.”

***

Mr. Ping’s estate looks straight out of the American soap operas my mom used to watch, thinking it would help her understand Papa’s job at the winery. Rolling acres of vines cover the sides of the road leading to a long gravel drive lined with stately green columns of Italian cypresses. A large sign next to an ornate wrought iron gate announces visiting hours and points to the tasting room.

A tan building marked “Cellar” stands next to a chartreuse stucco restaurant with floor to ceiling windows overlooking a clear blue lake and the valley below. Large, white birds with black beaks and bright orange crests flock on a spindly tree almost devoid of leaves. They scream loudly as we approach.

“Crap!” Dex says. “I ought to take my shotgun and spray them.”

“But, they’re so pretty,” I say. “One of the doctors I work with has a cockatoo, so hilariously cute.”

“They’re pests here,” Cliff explains. “Wasteful feeders. They can strip a vine bare and pick all the fruit, throwing them on the ground for fun.”

“Vandals,” Dex says between his teeth. “Cockies don’t even eat what they pluck.”

 Ben presses a button on the Rover and the gates open to a large circular driveway leading to a Mediterranean-styled three-story mansion. Palm trees and a large water fountain stand in front of the terraced entryway.

Cliff taps my arm. “Like what you see?”

“Impressive.” All I’m thinking is that Zach used to live here, play with his dog, and run in the fields. What a comedown to lose this place.

“You’re looking at the future of Australian wines. Mr. Ping’s facilities are high-tech, computer controlled. Nothing like the old guys who lick a finger and stick it in the wind.”

“It’s huge. How many acres?”

“Over two hundred,” Dex cuts in. “We’ve been gobbling up the smaller farms in the vicinity and upgrading all the growing and harvesting methods, building new facilities.”

“Old man Spencer left this place a ruin,” Cliff says with relish. “Mr. Ping tore down their ratty farmhouse.”

A valet opens the door and helps me out of the Range Rover. I’m amazed at the row of servants who quickly gather and stand attentively, bowing as we walk by. Cliff takes my arm as if he were my escort and leads me up a wide set of steps into a marbled entry hallway. A prominent sculpture of a leaping dolphin with beads of water streaming down its body graces the foyer.

“I’ll show you to your quarters,” Cliff says. “You’ll join me and the Ping brothers for dinner.”

“Ping brothers?” I gape at Ben and Dex while they smile smugly and strike matching kung fu poses.

“And where do you fit in?” I ask Cliff.

“I’m Mr. Ping’s right hand man, unfortunately not family. At least, not yet.” He wiggles his eyebrows as if there’s a secret message.

“I thought you were the receptionist at Happy Bear Forest Retirement Communities,” I say with as much snark as I can muster.

He jiggles my arm. “I moonlight. I’m like the Energizer bunny, I keep going, and going, and going.”

“Whatever.” I turn away from his crude hip thrusts. “And my father, does he work here too?”

It’s like I said something wrong. All three guys avoid my gaze, their shoes clicking on the marble floor. Cliff steers me up the curved stairway with a weeping water wall on one side and a pineapple tree fountain in the center. “We’ll take your DNA, and then you can rest.”

Nervous sweat prickles my palms. I should be scared, but I’m more curious.

Ben texts someone on his cell phone, and they stop in front of a set of white double doors inlaid with gemstone tiles. My heartbeat revs, wondering what lies beyond the doorway, whether my father is on the other side, or if this is all a big hoax.

Cliff opens the door and exposes a sitting room complete with colorful rattan furniture and bright white ceiling fans. The walls are salmon-colored with white moldings and the floor is dark teak. Crystal water sculptures are positioned on pedestals beside the end tables.

A man in a white coat pulls on a pair of gloves and tears open a pack containing long swabs. He gestures for me to sit on the armchair and open my mouth. Cliff and the Ping brothers stand watch, as if making sure I cooperate. I feel stupid but I open my mouth and allow the man to briskly rub the inside of my cheeks four times with different swabs. He carefully tucks them back into the sleeve and exits without a word.

“Well, that’s that,” says Dex. “If you don’t match, we’ll prepare concrete boots for you and take you water skiing in Port Phillip Bay.”

“Ha, ha.” I put my feet on the ottoman as if I hadn’t a care in the world. “I’m so scared.”

Predictably, all three men flex their muscles and try to look mean. I must be stuck in some grade B action movie. I half expect Jackie Chan to pop through the wall and break furniture or serenade me with his goofy singing. Maybe I’m too tired. I’m definitely sweaty and jetlagged.

I put my hands behind my head and relax under the ceiling fan. “What now?”

“Why don’t you freshen up and meet us for dinner?” Cliff helpfully suggests as he fluffs a pillow on the couch.

I roll my eyes. “How can I do that when I have no luggage, no makeup, nothing.”

“Then take a nap, I don’t know.” He shrugs and walks to a bay window, looking out. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

I push myself from the armchair and follow him to the window seat. It’s a cozy nook furnished with pillows and soft throws.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Nothing for you to worry about.” He’s gruff and opens another door on the far side of the sitting room. “Take a nap in the bedroom.”

“I’m good, thanks.” I pick through the books on the shelves.
Curious George, The Complete Winnie the Pooh, Treasure Island, The Hobbit.
“Does Mr. Ping have young children?”

“No.” All three men scowl and mercifully they exit the room, leaving me alone with nothing but the clothes on my back.

I glance out the window. It overlooks the valley, lush with rows and rows of grapevines as far as the eye can see. The bright blue of the sky is a nice change from the muted haze at home.

A gardener wearing a wide-brimmed hat is trimming the bushes. His skin is dark brown, and he walks with a slight limp. I press my nose to the window to get a closer look. Could he be my father? Did he survive the jump and find his way to Australia?

I tap the window, hoping to get his attention, but he doesn’t look up. He lowers his clipping shears and glances at his cell phone.

A minute later, Cliff appears from behind the hedge and whispers something to the gardener, no doubt reporting my arrival. My pulse prances like an excited puppy. Is the man he’s talking to my father?

In three steps I’m at the double door, but when I turn the knob, I find it locked.

“Someone, let me out.” I pound on the door, knowing how useless it is. Not only am I locked in, but Cliff also has my cell phone, purse and passport.

What the hell have I gotten myself into this time?