Schooled in Revenge (14 page)

“I’m going to need some help.”

Shay got out of the car and walked around to Reena’s side. He opened the door, easing Cruz’s body off Reena’s lap, lifting the other man into his arms like a sleeping child.

“This is where Cruz and Simon used to come when things got rough at home,” she explained as they made their way to the
water’s edge. “Cruz told me they called their trips here ‘adventures.’ ”

Ava touched her arm. “It sounds like the perfect place,” she said softly.

Reena nodded. It was the only place she could think of. A place of love and hope. A place Simon could come to be near his brother when they finally cleared his name.

And they would clear his name. For Cruz.

She stepped closer to Shay, but looked closely at Cruz’s face.

“I don’t know how I’ll go on without you, but I will, because that’s how you’d want it.” She laughed softly, tears streaming down her face. “I can almost hear you now, telling me to move my ass.” She placed a tender kiss on his lips. “Good night, my love. Sleep well.”

She stepped back, nodding to Shay, who walked into the surf and gently placed Cruz’s body into the rough waters. The sweeping tide brushed her feet, as if trying to comfort her as the water wrapped its arms around Cruz, pulling him out to sea.

She watched the water until she was sure he was gone. Then she turned to the others.

“I can’t let him die for nothing.”

Ava shook her head. “We won’t.”

Shay stared out over the water, the moon casting a column of light on its surface. “The most powerful hunter on the planet isn’t the lion or the tiger. It’s not even a cheetah or a bird of prey.” He looked at Reena. At all of them. “It’s a pack of wild African painted dogs. Fierce, violent, calculating. On their own, they don’t amount to much. But when they work together, their rate of takedown is incomparable.”

Takeda had been right. Emotions got in the way of revenge. Cruz would still be there if he hadn’t loved Reena enough to die for her. Reena wouldn’t feel like the life had been sucked out of her if she hadn’t loved Cruz.

And now Reena understood something else. Retribution wasn’t just a willingness to send people to hell. It was a willingness to go there with them to see the job done. She knew it firsthand, because if there was a hell, this had to be it.

“C’mon,” Shay said, turning away from the water. “Time to fly.”

Reena looked one last time at the water, the tide ebbing and flowing. She imagined Cruz, drifting on the swells, part of the sea now. Part of everything. She would come back when she’d cleared Simon’s name, she decided. When she’d avenged Cruz’s death. She would come back and sit on the rocks and tell Cruz everything she’d never had the courage to say.

She was surprised to feel someone grab her hand.

Ava.

And then, a soft grip on her other one.

Jane.

They stood there for a moment, hand in hand.

“What do we do now?” Reena finally asked.

Ava took a deep breath. “We adapt.”

“Fore!” Charlie called out, rocking a nine-iron, his backswing in perfect form.

The weather was perfect, a mélange of color brought to life under a clear blue sky, the Heritage Hollows golf course set against scenic hillsides and emerald-colored fields. Even with his sunglasses, Charlie had to squint against the sun, watching as his shot blasted the bunker, sending a spray of sand onto the green.

“You’re going to have to do better than that,” William Reinhardt sneered.

He picked up Charlie’s ball, knocking it against his golf shoes.

“It’s just a game,” Charlie said, stifling a rush of annoyance.

Reinhardt didn’t grace the comment with a response. Charlie knew all too well that nothing was just a game for Reinhardt. Not even a game.

Reinhardt glanced down at his Ulysse Nardin wristwatch. “I’d show you how it’s done—again—but it’s time to head back.”

They walked back to the car and made their way to Starling. Charlie wasn’t surprised to see that the guest lot was full
as they pulled onto the grounds of the elaborate estate. Starling’s tasting rooms were ripe with visitors year-round, but as spring turned to summer, Napa was a hotbed of activity.

And Starling was the region’s star.

Reinhardt and Charlie were greeted with a mixture of awe and reverence as they made their way across the estate. William had purchased the vineyard from Ava Winters after the death of her grandmother. At least that’s how it was perceived.

And Charlie was his right-hand man.

Many of the locals were relieved when Reinhardt took over. True, he wasn’t born and raised in Napa, but rumors had swirled for months that the Winters girl was running the vineyard into the ground; Starling was on the verge of bankruptcy. If it weren’t for Reinhardt, it might not be in business at all, and while his business dealings since coming to Napa had proven suspect, he was undeniably powerful. That left the locals only two choices: oppose him or befriend him.

And opposing him was dangerous.

Reinhardt and Charlie entered the main house through two large plank and batten doors. They passed through the cathedral-like foyer, shoes clicking on pristine marble, and went straight for the study. Reinhardt headed for the bar, pouring himself a glass of Barbera wine and surveying its deep ruby hue before taking a sip.

Pouring a glass for himself, Charlie took a whiff, noting the subtle cherry aroma. He took a drink, looking through the study doors to the grand staircase. He’d been at Starling countless times since Reinhardt bought it.

Since Reinhardt stole it with Charlie’s help.

But Charlie never stopped looking at the wall next to the stairs, his gaze going right to the empty space where the portrait of Ava, her mother, and her grandmother had once hung.

Charlie sometimes felt sick when he thought about it. About what he put Ava through so he could afford the Italian loafers on his feet. He liked his new life. Liked the luxury and security of it. But still the question of whether he’d do it again moved through his mind like a swinging pendulum, steady and constant.

“Drink up, Charles,” Reinhardt said, eyeing Charlie’s still-full glass. “And relax. Tonight will be enjoyable, even if we do have to put up with Wells.”

“The senator?” Charlie asked. “I didn’t realize he was on the guest list.”

Reinhardt waved off the statement. “You know how politicians are, always trying to see and be seen.”

Reinhardt wasn’t telling him everything. Charlie could hear it in the too-flip tone of his voice, a dead giveaway from a man who was never truly flip about anything. They were partners of a sort, but Charlie was nothing if not honest with himself.

Honor among thieves was only nice—or even possible—in theory.

“I’m going to change,” Reinhardt said, setting his empty glass on the bar and heading for the staircase. He was halfway there when he turned back to Charlie. “By the way, why is the Starling Gala on May first? I’ve always wondered about it.”

Charlie kept his face impassive. Reinhardt wasn’t the only one with secrets.

“No clue.”

Ava blows out the candles on the enormous pink cake as Charlie films the scene with a handheld video camera. The small gathering in the Starling Vineyards atrium—Sylvie, Marie, Marie’s daughter, Daniella, and a handful of Starling employees—applauds Ava on her twenty-first birthday.

“You shouldn’t have,” Ava says with a laugh, her black crepe dress setting off her green eyes.

“Once you taste that cake, you’ll be glad we did,” Charlie says. “I tested it myself when we were trying to decide which one to order.”

Ava gazes lovingly at him as Sylvie wraps him in an embrace, relieved that Ava has someone she can trust in her life. Sylvie is increasingly aware that she won’t live forever, and without Ava’s parents, the girl will need the support of others when Sylvie’s gone.

Everyone raises a glass of prized Zirfandel. Sylvie coughs a bit as she drinks, startling her granddaughter.

“Grandmother? Are you all right?” Ava asks, setting down her glass and hurrying over to her.

“Daniella, go get Sylvie some water,” Marie orders her daughter.

Daniella hurries to the kitchen but is stopped by Sylvie.

“That won’t be necessary,” Sylvie rasps. “I’m perfectly fine. I just want to enjoy the party.”

Sylvie catches the concern in Ava’s eyes. It’s true that she’s been under the weather of late, but she’s as tough as they come. Napa’s summer heat is on its way. She’ll be right as rain in no time at all.

She raises her glass. “To Ava,” she says. “And to the Starling Gala.”

The chorus is repeated by the group.

Charlie leans in to Sylvie as everyone drinks. “Is it a coincidence,” he asks, “that the gala is the same day as Ava’s birthday?”

“Not at all. Ava’s mother planned it this way.” She takes his arm. “Someday when we’re all gone Ava’s great-great-grandkids—and who knows, Charlie, maybe they’ll be yours, too”—she winks at him—“will still be celebrating Ava’s birthday, even if they don’t know it. Because people, dear, they come and go. Some faster than others, some with more impact. But tradition can’t be so easily quelled.”

Charlie is touched in spite of himself. Later, while the women dress for the gala, Charlie wanders the house, taking in the classic simplicity of its furnishings, the fine art and antiques collected over more than one lifetime. It’s a brand of grandeur that can’t be bought. Reinhardt might one day own the place. Might even live here. But it won’t be the same without the people who built and nurtured it.

He’s just come down the main hallway, past the grand staircase, when he feels someone watching him. Turning, his gaze falls on the painting of Ava, her mother, and Sylvie on the wall. The women seem to watch him, their eyes vibrant and alive even on canvas. They are beautiful, their fine bone structure and regal bearing echoing across the generations.

He stands there a moment, feeling the weight of their legacy. It’s an uncomfortable burden, especially under the circumstances, and a moment later he turns to go, trying to ignore the feeling that they are watching him every step of the way.

“How are you feeling?” Ava asked as the morning sun slanted across the bed.

Reena hadn’t wanted to be alone when they returned from Bodega Bay the night before. They had fallen asleep on Ava’s bed without speaking about Cruz’s death or anything that had happened at Tavern Red.

“I don’t know,” Reena said softly. “I can’t feel anything.”

Ava didn’t try to comfort her. Didn’t say any of the trite things people say in these situations. It didn’t help. It only turned the tables, forcing the grieving to comfort everyone else in their desperation to say the right thing.

Ava knew it all firsthand.

Reena got out of bed and moved toward the bathroom.

“Can I do anything for you?” Ava asked. “Get anything for you?”

She hesitated. “Yeah, you can help me get Wells and Reinhardt.”

She closed the bathroom door, and a minute later Ava heard the water running in the shower.

She lay there, thinking about Reena, about how much her
world had changed in just a few short hours. It wasn’t a surprise. Nothing was certain.

Nothing.

She got up and walked to the window, looking out over Marie’s field. She wondered about Jon. What was he seeing this morning? Was he even still alive? Could he be on the run because he’d killed Cain?

But instinct said that Jon had been taken by some of Cain’s men. She’d thought they got them all inside Tavern Red, but it was possible some of them had been in the back when all hell broke loose. And if Cain’s men had Jon, what incentive would they have for keeping him alive? He could already be dead.

She shook her head and turned in to the empty room. There was no point thinking about it. The only thing they could do for Jon was to get ahold of Wells and Reinhardt, force them to explain what they’d done with him before they paid for all their other crimes.

The smell of sugar and browning butter crept under the door. Coffee and pastries wouldn’t change anything for Reena, but it might make it a little easier to face the day.

Ava opened the door, planning to bring a tray up for Reena, and nearly crashed into a shirtless Shay.

“Whoa!” she said, taking a reflexive step backward.

“Whoa yourself,” he grinned, clad only in jeans. “Thought you two could use some breakfast.”

She dropped her eyes to the tray in his hand, laden with pastries and two steaming mugs. “Wow… thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “You know, I just got up,
whipped up these delicious croissants, ground some coffee beans…”

She smacked his arm playfully, careful not to upset the tray. “Yeah, right.”

“Want some company?” he asked.

She stepped back, opening the door wider. “Sure. Reena’s in the shower.”

She took the tray to the bed and sat down, picking up one of the buttery croissants as Shay pulled the desk chair around to face her.

“Want one?” Ava indicated the tray.

He shook his head. “Already ate.”

“What about Jane?” Ava asked. “She still pissed?”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet.” He glanced at the closed bathroom door. “How is she?”

Ava took a drink of hot coffee, savoring the smoky bitterness. “Devastated. Numb. Still in shock, I think.”

They sat in companionable silence while Ava ate. When she’d polished off a second pastry and half the coffee, she brushed off her hands.

“So what’s up? The breakfast was sweet, but I have a feeling you didn’t come up here to practice your room service skills.”

“It’s time to get to work,” Shay said simply.

They turned to the door as Jane walked in. She crossed the room and sat on the bed next to Ava. “So let’s work.”

Shay surveyed her silently. Ava didn’t think it was her imagination that she saw affection in his eyes. Whatever had happened on Rebun Island when Jane had first arrived, whatever
Shay knew, he cared about her. It was obvious to Ava even if Jane was too blinded by her own anger to see it.