by Lasky, Jesse
He left on silent feet, swallowed by the night only seconds later.
Ava rose, wanting to clean up the broken porcelain before she went to bed. She was turning to go when she noticed a small fragment of Acala’s flame on the ground near her feet. She picked it up, the porcelain glimmering in what was left of the moonlight.
She tucked the piece into her palm and went to look for a broom.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ava let the broken pieces slide from the dustpan into the waste bin. Then she put the broom away and went inside. Jon was still there, tightening the panel onto the wall. He looked over his shoulder at her.
“Hey,” he said, turning back to the panel.
“Hey. How’s it going?”
“I think I’ve just… about… got it.” He gave the panel one last shimmy. A solid click sounded through the room. “There.” He turned to her. “I’m surprised you’re still up.”
“I wanted to clean up the mess outside before I went to bed.”
He nodded, his eyes lingering on her face. Ava was suddenly aware of their solitude in the meditation room. Everyone else had gone to bed, the tera and its residents finally settled down for the night. The waves crashed against the cliffs below, a rhythmic lullaby that was the only sound in the still night.
She had a flash of his lips, warm and insistent against hers, before they’d been interrupted on the cliff. And here they were again, just inches apart, like the universe was conspiring to throw them together in spite of the danger.
And there was danger. Of losing focus. Of opening her heart to someone who was still grieving the loss of his dead fiancée. Of opening her heart to anyone, for that matter.
She tried to calm the rush of desire in her veins. “I guess we should go to bed.”
He held her gaze a moment longer before turning reluctantly away. “I guess so.”
Ava was halfway to the door when she heard Jon’s voice behind her.
“What the…?”
Turning around, she saw Jon studying something against the wall. She walked over and leaned in, her eyes finding a tiny crack in the rice paper paneling of the meditation room wall.
“What is it?” Ava asked.
Jon reached out, pushing gently against the wall until a huge rectangle seemed to open up in front of them, the panel swinging inward.
A hidden door.
Jon grabbed a candle from a nearby altar and stepped toward the dark recesses of the room beyond.
Ava put a hand on his arm. “Do you think we should?”
He turned to her, indecision in his eyes. “You probably shouldn’t. I don’t want you to get in trouble. But I’m going to see what’s in here.”
Ava sighed and followed him in.
The room was so dark she couldn’t see anything beyond the small circle of light cast by the candle. She grabbed on to Jon’s arm, giving her eyes time to adjust to the blackness around her. It didn’t help much, but a few seconds later, Jon extended his arm, holding the candle out in front of him and moving it around until Ava could make out the contents of the room.
It was tiny, not much bigger than a closet. There was a small writing desk against one wall, a simple stool, and an unlit candle, burned halfway down. There were no pictures on the wall, no personal effects to hint at the room’s purpose or owner, although Ava had to guess it was Takeda.
Jon stepped toward the desk, a stack of files sitting neatly atop its surface. Setting the candle down, he picked them up, opening the one on top.
“Jon…”
He ignored her, setting the file down and opening the next one. And the next and the next.
“These are ours,” he muttered.
“What are ours?” Ava asked.
“The files.” He picked up the first one from the desk. “This is mine. Information on the people who destroyed my life.”
Jon handed her the folder. She flipped through the contents, past schedules, calendars, receipts, and repeated mentions of a man named Frederick Cain.
Ava closed the file. “Is mine in there?”
He met her eyes in the flickering light of the candle.
She held out her hand. “Let me see.”
He hesitated before turning back to the stack of files, riffling through them until he got to the one he was looking for. He handed it to her.
She knew the folder was hers, but somehow she was still surprised to see her name scrawled in black marker across the top left corner. It felt like a violation. An intrusion on the past that belonged only to her.
But that was stupid. That Takeda knew about her past had never been a question.
She bent her head to the papers inside the file, immediately transported back to Starling Vineyards. Napa. Home.
There were documents detailing Ava’s family history, land surveys of the vineyard, copies of deeds old and new, even Ava’s college transcript. Most importantly, there was information on the people who had taken it all away.
She came to the end of the file, her eyes falling on a black-and-white photograph of Charles Bay, smiling into the camera. Even now, it was like a punch to the stomach, one that brought memories she wasn’t at all prepared to face.
Ava and Charlie walk hand in hand across the cobblestone streets of St. Helena, a modest diamond glittering on Ava’s finger. The sun is shining, the air warm and arid in a way unique to Napa and Sonoma counties. Ava shields her eyes against the sun, and Charlie stops to remove a pair of sunglasses from the outdoor display of a small boutique.
He puts the glasses gently on her face. “Perfection.”
Ava laughs, but Charlie takes a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and hands it to the store owner, an older gentleman with a receding hairline and growing waistline.
“Can’t let the lady suffer,” Charlie says, winking at him.
Charlie puts his arm around her and they continue walking.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says.
“What, the sunglasses? Ava, it’s okay, I want you to—”
She stops walking, forcing him to stop, too, and pulls him out of the walkway. “You don’t owe me anything. This is something I want to do. For us. So no more thank-yous, no more gifts, no more—”
Charlie leans in, kissing her.
“Well, okay, you can keep doing that,” she says, still surprised by the effect he has on her. They laugh. She looks up at him as they continue walking. “We’re in this together, right? Forever?”
He nods slowly. “I just want you to be sure.”
They finally come to a stop in front of a small office, an old wooden sign swinging from the façade: LAW OFFICE OF MEYER HERMAN & DUNN, ESQUIRE.
She looks into his eyes. “What about you? Are you sure?”
He squeezes her hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”
She smiles. “Me, too. The land, the winery, my home—our home—it’s all I have left of them. My parents. Grandma Sylvie. I want to share it with someone. With you.”
He leans in, kissing her tenderly. “I love you, Ava, and purchasing that land in the Loire Valley will be an incredible way to expand the winery—and your family’s legacy.”
“Are you sure I can’t see the land first?” she asks. “I’d really love to.”
Charlie sighs, shaking his head. “I know, love. But we talked about this. The season is kicking into high gear around here. I thought you couldn’t get away?”
“Well, yes, not right now,” Ava says. “But in a few months—”
“In a few months it will be gone. It’s such a rarity for a property like this one to come on the market. And at least I was able to see it when I was last in France.” He pauses. “Maybe we should take our chances. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable with the idea.”
But Ava doesn’t want to lose the property. Doesn’t want to disappoint Charlie when he’s worked so hard to help her with the vineyard, when he’s put so much faith into their future.
“And once the de
al goes through…”
“Just like we talked about,” he says excitedly. “You’re only granting me power of attorney so I can sign the deeds to the Loire Valley. When the deal is done, we’ll put everything back in your name.”
It’s time to move on. Time to put the sadness and loss of the past aside for a joyful future with Charlie.
She takes a deep breath. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”
Charlie crushes her in a quick embrace before opening the door to the law office and ushering her inside.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Why would Takeda keep this stuff from us?” Jon said, leaning against the wall.
Reena was sitting on the floor next to Cruz, each of them paging through their files. She’d assumed Takeda knew things about her, about the death of her mother, but she’d been shocked silent by the breadth of his knowledge. Even she, someone who rarely apologized for herself or her behavior, was embarrassed by the revelations. The drunkenness, the partying, the sleeping around… Everything that had come before her mother’s murder.
“Maybe part of revenge is learning about our enemies so we can take them down the right way,” Ava suggested, sitting at the old wooden table that functioned as a desk in her room.
Jon paced. “These files have everything I need to track and confront Cain. What’s the point in waiting?”
“Takeda has a reason for everything,” Ava said. “If he hasn’t shown us these files, it’s because he doesn’t think we’re ready.”
Reena was only half listening, her eyes drawn to a photograph of a middle-aged man with piercing eyes. “Cruz, look at this.”
He reached for the photo. “Is that Senator Wells?”
Reena swallowed, trying to quell the dread creeping through her bones. “I think so.”
“Wait a minute,” Ava said. “Isn’t Senator Wells the guy who took over after—”
“After my mother was killed?” Reena said softly. “Yes.”
“You always said you never trusted the guy,” Cruz murmured. “And don’t you remember that paper of his you found? The one with the—”
“I remember it,” Reena snapped, her heart in a vise. “What’s your point?”
“Take a look.” He handed her a stack of grainy photographs from his own file.
“What is this?” Reena asked, looking down at the images. Her gaze was drawn to a man with glasses. He looked more like a computer programmer than someone who belonged in the world of murder for hire. “Who is it?”
Crossing the room, Jon leaned over Reena’s shoulder to look at the pictures. “They look like security camera screen shots.” He froze, eyes glued to the photos. “What the fuck?”
Reena glanced at Jon. “What is it?”
He pointed to the man meeting with Wells. “That’s Frederick Cain.” He looked at Reena. “You said they never found the person who killed your mother?”
She nodded, despair encroaching on the serenity she’d found focusing on revenge. “Cruz’s brother, Simon, was arrested and found guilty, but there’s no way he did it.”
Jon stood, running his hand through his hair. “This is crazy.”
“What’s going on?” Ava asked.
“Frederick Cain is a hit man,” he said, turning to them. “Actually, that’s not totally true. He hires people to do the dirty work. But he’s the guy you call when you want to take someone out and don’t want to do it yourself.”
“How do you know all of this?” Reena asked, her mind working to put the pieces together.
“Because Cain and his people are the ones who killed my fiancée.”
Reena stood up, wanting to crawl out of her own skin as everything began to fall into place. If Wells had Cain kill her mother and framed Cruz’s brother—a safe assumption given the photos of them meeting in Cruz’s revenge file—and Cain also killed Jon’s fiancée…
Their missions were connected. They were out for revenge against the same people.
“According to these printouts—hacked government files, police reports—Cain is exactly who Jon says he is,” Cruz said, looking at the contents of the file. “But no one’s ever been able to nail the dude. Hell, no one’s even connected him with a crime. Ever.”
“Cain has friends in high places,” Jon explained. “And everyone has a price. He orchestrates everything and then pays off the right people to keep it all quiet. Convenient, since most of the people he’s paying off are the same ones paying him to commit their own personal sins.”
Reena’s despair receded, transforming into the cold fury she’d relied on since coming to Rebun Island. Now it all made sense; Senator Wells hired Cain to kill Reena’s mother so he could take her seat in the Senate.
“This is weird,” Cruz muttered, picking up the files and consulting them one by one. “Every one of our files has a calendar page with May first circled and marked with ‘10 p.m., Starling Vineyards, Napa Valley.’ ”
Ava froze, shaking her head. “What did you just say?”
Cruz handed her the files. “See for yourself.”
Ava flipped through the folders before sinking onto a chair, her face a mask of shock.
“That mean something to you?” Cruz asked.
“Starling Vineyards is mine. Was mine.” She looked up at them. “It was in my family for three generations before it was taken from me. Every year on May first a gala is held there.”
“What kind of gala?” Reena asked.
“It’s a formal event: wine, food, dancing, the whole nine yards,” Ava explained. “My grandmother started the tradition. After she passed, I upheld it. Apparently the bastards who stole my life have kept it going.”
“May first is next week and it looks like both Senator Wells and Frederick Cain will be there,” Jon said.
But there was something Reena didn’t understand. “Why are they meeting at some château in Northern California?”
Ava looked away, her mind coming to some unpleasant conclusions.
“Do you know something we don’t?” Reena asked her.
Ava sighed. “I’m guessing it’s because of William Reinhardt.”
“Who’s William Reinhardt?” Jon asked.
Ava opened her file and removed a picture of an elegant man with salt-and-pepper hair and a thinly groomed beard. “This man.”
Reena had never seen the man before in her life. “What does he have to do with anything?”
“Well, I’m assuming a senator wouldn’t be well acquainted with hit men,” Ava said. “If Jacob Wells wanted someone to take out your mother, he’d need a connection to find that kind of someone.”
“And this guy, Reinhardt, is that connection?” Cruz asked.
Ava shrugged. “Who knows? But it makes sense. He’s a big-money investor who uses questionable tactics to get what he wants. It’s made him a very wealthy man, and according to Takeda’s files, he and Senator Wells were roommates at Brown. Plus, Reinhardt’s been rumored to have associations with Cain, using him and his men to intimidate, and sometimes worse, to get what he wants.”
“And to get his friends what they want,” Reena said angrily. “Even if it was murdering my mother.”
Reena storms into a seedy motel room, bare and grimy, made up of two wiry twin beds and a termite-infested desk. Cruz follows Reena inside, shutting the door and locking it behind her.
“The media won’t give us two seconds together. Won’t give me two seconds to myself,” Cruz says, pacing the tiny room.
“This place is disgusting,” Reena says, looking around.
“Yeah, well, at least they won’t find us here.”
“I wouldn’t even be able to find us here,” Reena says.
Cruz crosses his muscular arms across his chest. “Funny. I haven’t been able to find you for the last six months.”
Reena looked down, guilt crowding out her happiness at seeing Cruz. The shooting of Reena’s mother and Simon’s subsequent arrest had sent both their lives into a tailspin. At first, they had banded together, fin
ding solace in each other’s company, and eventually, each other’s arms. But then Simon’s trial had begun, and Reena’s life had turned into a media feeding frenzy. Overwhelmed and distraught, Reena had done the only thing she could at the time. She’d run.
Reena grabs Cruz’s hand and pulls him next to her on the edge of one of the beds. “I’m sorry. I’m going to explain, I promise. But first, tell me about Simon. How is he holding up?”
Cruz stares at her a minute, as if trying to determine if he can really trust her to come clean.
Finally, he shakes his head. “He’s hanging in there, but I think he’s starting to crack. We used to think we could get him out on appeal, but the lawyers say that’s probably not going to happen unless we can introduce some kind of new evidence. I just…”
Reena tips her head, forcing him to look at her. “What?”
“I just feel so fucking helpless.”
“I’m sorry,” she says softly, wrapping her arms around him. She knows that the brothers hadn’t had an easy childhood. But they had each other, and that had gotten them through the hard times. It must be killing Cruz not to be able to help Simon.
“Is the press still speculating that you were in on it?” Reena had been shocked and horrified when the media had gone after Cruz, insinuating that, as an aide to Reena’s mother, he had fed Simon information that allowed him to get close enough to take the shot that had killed her.
He waved off the question. “I’m done in politics. Ruined. But I don’t even care anymore. I just need to clear Simon.”
“Have you found out anything new?” Reena asks. “Anything that might help?”
He shakes his head. “I’ve hit so many brick walls, my head is bleeding. I’m at a dead end.”
She hesitates. He’s as stubborn as she is. Once she tells him her plan, there will be no going back. For either of them.
“I think I might be able to help,” she finally says.
“Have you found something? Some kind of new evidence?”
She takes a deep breath. “I found someone,” she says. “Someone who can help us clear Simon’s name. Someone who can help us find my mother’s killer. Who can teach us how to avenge them both.”
