Schooled in Revenge (18 page)

She caressed a bottle of vintage red, the glass smooth and cool to the touch. Older wines were an intriguing beast. More delicious and vibrant than the younger breeds, old wine had a vastly shortened life span once opened. Like a dark secret, an old wine had to be handled with care. Otherwise, it would leave a terrible taste in the mouth of whomever consumed it.

Now it was time to serve Charlie his drink.

“You stole my world, Charlie Bay. It’s only fair that you should lose yours.”

“You can’t do anything to me,” Charlie scoffed. “I could have you removed from the premises with a flick of my wrist.”

“The thing is,” Ava continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “you’ve had every opportunity to come clean, but we both know that’s something you’ll never do. You don’t want to lose that Rolex on your wrist, the Benz in your driveway.”

He considered her words, her calm demeanor causing a spark of fear to light his eyes. “I’ll write you a check,” he said. His tone was conciliatory. “It’s only fair.”

She ambled slowly around the cellar, gazing at the different wines. “You don’t want redemption. You just want to put your sins to bed so you can sleep, too.” She came to a stop in front of the portrait. “Tell me why you saved it.”

“Why do you think?” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. “Ava, I still—”

“Don’t.” She stopped him. “Just tell me what they did to my grandmother. Tell me or I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Charlie said with a fresh show of fight. “You have no leverage over me. I mean, bloody hell, I’d tell you to go home but you don’t even have that anymore. Just leave, Ava.”

She moved toward her clutch, still on the shelf where she’d put it when she came down to meet Charlie. She turned to face him.

“Say good-bye to your world, Charlie. But not Napa Valley. This isn’t your real life. Your real life was a blue-collar family in London, your father a history teacher with all of your good looks and none of your tact, your mother a florist who wishes you would call more.”

Charlie was visibly thrown. Ava had expected it. He’d told her his parents had died when he was young.

She handed him the manila envelope.

“What is this?” Charlie said, trepidation in his voice.

Ava continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Your dad’s quite the ladies’ man, isn’t he? Like you. Only it seems he likes them a tad younger.” She watched as he stared at the pictures inside the envelope. “Don’t bother tearing them up. I’ve got copies.”

He looked up at her with horror in his eyes. “Where did you get these?”

“That doesn’t really matter, now does it? You took all that I had left of my family, Charlie. Why shouldn’t I do the same to you?”

He shook his head. “You don’t understand… My mother’s a good person. This will destroy her.”

“You knew all along,” Ava said. “You knew what your father was doing and never said a word.”

“I discovered the truth when I was eighteen,” he explained. “I begged my father to stop. And when the police got involved—”

“Your dad paid them to keep the records sealed.” Ava handed Charlie wire receipts from his father’s checking to a dummy account set up by the three officers who originally arrested him. “Another piece of information I assume you don’t want going public.”

Charlie grabbed on to one of the wine racks to steady himself. “What are you going to do with all of this?”

Ava shrugged. “I’m more interested in how your mother is going to react when she learns she’s been married to a pedophile for the past thirty-one years. And just imagine what the head of the school district will say—”

“You can’t,” Charlie protested. “My mother… She won’t
be able to handle it. And my father… He’s sick, Ava. He needs help.”

“You should have done something about that before, Charlie. Or should I say Edward? Edward Charles Bayley.”

“Please don’t do this,” he pleaded.

“Tell me what Reinhardt did to my grandmother and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Charlie spoke fast. “All I know is that someone told Reinhardt there was no way Sylvie would sell, especially not to him. Whoever it was said that you could be manipulated, but only if Sylvie was out of the picture.”

Ava’s mind reeled as she processed the implications. “Who are you talking about?”

“Reinhardt never told me who it was, but I assumed it was someone who knew your family—and Sylvie—well. Someone who could get close enough to Sylvie to take her out.”

She looked at him in horror. “Marie?”

Reena listened carefully through the crack in the door.

“I can’t just sit around waiting for him,” Wells said. “Just being here makes me susceptible to public scrutiny.”

Reinhardt set down his glass. “Fine. Tell me where Marcus is and I’ll relay the information.”

“I don’t know…”

Reena saw Wells walk to the window, but she didn’t know what he was doing until Reinhardt spoke a second later.

“I’ve already tried calling him,” Reinhardt protested. “If he doesn’t answer this time, you give me the information, and we go forward with our plans.”

An electronic beep sounded through the room as Wells disconnected the call. He sighed. “Darren Marcus is living in Sacramento, in an apartment above a Thai restaurant called Lu’s Palace. Tell Cain to make it look like a suicide.”

“The guy’s totally under the radar, Jacob. We don’t need to be that careful,” Reinhardt insisted.

It was a reckless assertion, in stark contrast to Wells’s
paranoia. Reena tattooed the information on her memory like the circle on her neck.

“Actually, I’d rather not know how he’s taken care of,” Wells decided. “I’m just glad she found him. Once again, she’s proven herself useful. Last time, we wrote her a check. I think it’s only fitting we do the same this time around, don’t you?”

Reena watched as Reinhardt walked over to the oak dresser. He pulled open the top drawer, removing a checkbook.

“I hadn’t even realized you asked her to find him,” Reinhardt said as he wrote.

Wells shook his head. “I didn’t. She approached me. Wanted to know what else she could do to make sure Ava Winters never redeems the keys to her castle.”

Reena stepped back from the door, leaning against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. Someone had it out for Ava. Someone was feeding Reinhardt and Wells information to keep Ava from reclaiming Starling.

She filed the information away and moved back to the door, scanning the room until she found Reinhardt. He was standing near the dresser, holding a small silver picture frame. Reena couldn’t see the photograph inside it, but it seemed to hold Reinhardt captive.

“Put that away,” Wells said with a hint of exasperation. “You did what had to be done. We all did. Self-preservation is worth a thousand lives.”

“I didn’t care about a thousand lives,” Reinhardt growled. “I only cared about one.”

Reena jockeyed for a better view, trying to figure out who was in Reinhardt’s picture frame. Anyone Reinhardt cared
about was a potential weakness, something to be exploited in their quest for revenge.

“Yes, well, you only go around once. Damn the people who get in your way. Isn’t that what you used to say?” Wells asked his former college roommate. “And we’ve done better than most. We have everything we ever wanted.”

“Do we, Jacob?” Reinhardt asked, his temper exploding. “Do we have everything we ever wanted? And if so, at what cost?” He continued without waiting for Wells to answer. “No, don’t answer. I’ll tell you. The only thing my money can’t buy. My little girl.”

Reinhardt threw the photograph maniacally against the wall, the glass frame shattering on impact. It skidded across the wood floor, coming to rest near the bathroom door.

Reena moved around, adjusting her vantage point through the narrow opening, hoping for a clear look at the picture lying on the floor, covered in shards of broken glass.

And then she saw it: a picture of William Reinhardt with a young woman. Reinhardt had his arm wrapped around the woman, the smile on his face making him almost unrecognizable as the monster who had slobbered all over her in the bedroom.

But it wasn’t William’s face that drew Reena’s gaze. It was the engaging, bright-eyed beauty beside him, her long blond hair falling in a glossy sheet around delicate features that Reena would recognize anywhere.

The young woman next to William Reinhardt was Jane.

Jane eased out of the car, offering a silent apology to Shay, slumped over in the seat with an already-swelling welt on his head. She hadn’t wanted to knock him unconscious, but it was the only way she was going to get the answers she needed.

She hurried down the road, watching as groups of people exited the estate and a few late arrivals made their way to the main house. The valets hustled back and forth, bringing some cars and parking others, as guests stood around in dresses and tuxedos.

Jane stepped onto the grounds and walked toward the front door.

“My family isn’t responsible for the things I’ve done,” Charlie said. “You don’t have to do this to them.”

Still reeling from the suspicion that Marie had been helping Reinhardt, Ava’s resolve began to soften under Charlie’s pleading. Ava wasn’t a bad person. In fact, she had always gone out of her way to help other people. Maybe Charlie was right.

Maybe this was revenge taken too far. After all, she’d made her point.

Charlie moved closer, reaching up to touch her face. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I…” He shook his head. “I wish I could take it all back.”

The moment their bodies were in orbit, the pull was too great to fight. All at once, Ava wasn’t remembering the pain and heartache of the weeks following Charlie’s betrayal, the stinging shame of her naïveté. She was transported instead to the picnics she and Charlie had, hours spent talking and laughing under the warm Napa sun. She remembered lying in bed, planning their future, naming their children, feeling that
nothing in the world could ever hurt her as long as Charlie was by her side.

He ran his hand through her hair, her head tipping involuntarily into his palm. She closed her eyes, desperately clinging to the possibility that he had changed. He had saved the painting. Maybe he was trying to save his soul, too.

“Ava…,” he murmured.

And then, her greatest betrayal as Charlie lowered his lips to hers, capturing her mouth, desire licking like fire through her body. For a moment there was nothing else. No lies. No past. No hurt. Just his tongue exploring her mouth, his body pressed against hers like a treasured memory.

And then, from the clutch in her hand, something jabbed her palm. She hesitated, breaking their kiss.

“What is it?” Charlie asked, his breath coming fast and heavy.

Opening the clutch, she found the jagged piece of Acala’s flame. She remembered Takeda’s words.
Burning away all weaknesses is the only way to find enlightenment.

To become the warrior she needed to be. To truly enact
fukushuu
against this man who took her home. Her family. Her life. And yes, her heart.

Charlie waits anxiously under an impressive arch adorned with white calla lilies, watching Ava saunter down the aisle in an elegant Vera Wang peau de soie gown. It’s a small gathering—tasteful and intimate, exactly what Ava wants. Pachelbel’s Canon in D resounds from the tiny iPod speakers Daniella has set up between masses of white hydrangeas.

Ava’s sparkling sapphire necklace glitters in the sunlight—her
something blue. The aging grapes of Starling Vineyards create a stunning backdrop—her something old. Ava is blissful. It’s a perfect day to get married and she’s marrying the perfect guy.

Next to Charlie stands the man he has paid to pose as Rev. Moore. Charlie’s smile is genuine. His feelings are real, but so is his deal with Reinhardt. And sadly, that deal has more power than his feelings will ever possess. That deal has already sealed his and Ava’s fate.

Ava reaches Charlie and touches his face. “You are my something new.” Charlie is aware of the irony in the fact that her words calm him. Part of Charlie would love to be her something old one day, too. However, the ominous-looking limousine waiting in the distance reminds him that his future is no longer up to him.

With Marie, Daniella, and a few select friends watching, Ava and Charlie are wed, or at least that’s how it appears. The guests applaud as the bride and groom share that all-important kiss. Ava pulls back, a look of concern crossing her face.

“What is it, love?” Charlie asks cautiously.

“I forgot my something borrowed.”

Charlie breathes a silent sigh of relief and reaches into his pocket. “Here, take this,” he says as he offers her the Starling Vineyards cork souvenir key chain she gave him the first time they met. They kiss again, this time with even more passion.

As the couple walks back up the aisle, they greet their guests. “It’s like a fairy tale, Ava,” Daniella tells her as the old friends take a moment alone.

Charlie works his way toward the limousine. A window rolls down revealing William Reinhardt languishing in
the rich leather upholstery. “Bravo, young man. Helluva performance.”

“She’s a good person,” Charlie adds, almost a plea.

Reinhardt reminds Charlie that there was another option, the one where the wedding would be real and a terrible accident would befall the young bride, leaving her husband to inherit the entire estate and sell it to Reinhardt for pennies on the dollar. Charlie cringes at the thought, a crashing realization of how he ended up here in the first place.

Reinhardt smiles smugly at Charlie’s visceral reaction. “That’s why we’ve gone with Plan B. The one where no one dies. Either way, I’m soon to be Starling’s one and only owner.”

There’s no easy way out for Charlie. Or for Ava. So in the end, he’s going to choose himself. But at least this path keeps Ava alive.

Charlie gave it only a passing glance before bending his head and trailing kisses along the side of her neck, picking up where they left off.