He arches a brow. “Got it. Not vanilla. Not going to play with you at the club. Does she at least know it exists and that you own it?”
“No,” I say. “Now focus.” I slide the notepad I’ve been writing on in front of him. He scans it and his gaze rockets to me. “Faith is dangerous? When did your father say that Faith was dangerous?”
I open my briefcase and set the note in front of him. He studies it for several long beats before he glances at me, “You’re sure Faith—”
“Faith is not a killer,” I say tightly. “Assume I’m right on this because I am. Now. Where does that note lead you?”
“That your father wanted the winery, or something else, and she was in the way of him getting it.”
“Exactly my thoughts,” I concur. “But Meredith Winter. He was paying her. I can’t make sense of that in my head.”
“He clearly infers that Meredith was dangerous, as Faith was more dangerous but the tone also infers that he had Meredith under control.”
“It’s almost impossible for me to conceive of my father paying someone off. But the evidence supports just that.”
He refills his glass. “What if he was getting something in exchange?”
“But what?”
“Ownership of the winery?”
“Faith would have had to sign off on that,” I remind him.
“Thus why she was a problem,” he says. “Or more dangerous to his plan than her mother. He had Meredith pinned down, but not Faith.”
“But the bills were not being paid,” I argue. “Meredith received a million dollars from my father and allowed a section of the vines to go untreated, and therefore become damaged.”
He thrums fingers on the counter. “Could she have been trying to get Faith to sell? You know, making it seem that the winery wasn’t worth owning?”
“Faith was working at the winery. She knew how well it was doing.”
“And yet the bills weren’t being paid?” he confirms.
“Correct,” I say, “and finally, after trying to get her mother to come clean with her about what was happening, and failing, Faith took action. She hired an attorney and tried to take the winery from her mother.”
“I can’t say that I blame her. What was her mother’s response?”
“She hired my father who nickel-and-dimed Faith into giving up.”
“I’m not sure that disproves my theory about Meredith wanting her to sell. Did she ever directly ask Faith to sell?”
“My understanding,” I say, “is yes. But all of this gets more interesting. I paid the bank off. You know that. And they still plan to hold up the execution of Meredith’s will while they get the property appraised.”
“Ouch. That’s not good. They have to have a document that says if it’s under the value of the note, they can take it,” he agrees. “Which would make anyone who signed an agreement to that royally stupid, but it happens.”
“Obviously I get my own appraisal, but why would the bank want a property that is under the value of the note anyway?”
“And why would your father want it?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “There’s something about that property. Something that got your father and her mother killed.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” I say, sticking the note back in my briefcase. “And I’d get my bank to buy out her note, but obviously, the bank isn’t going to let that happen, if they feel they may own it outright, and with some back-end benefit we don’t know about.”
“You can try,” he says. “But you’ll have to disclose the bank’s intent to have the property assessed.”
“Agreed,” I say, aware of the liability doing otherwise could represent.
“What does Faith think about all of this?”
“She doesn’t have the luxury of knowing that my father and her mother are linked to truly evaluate the situation as we do.”
“Tell her.”
“If I tell her, she kicks me to the curb, and I can’t protect her.”
“What does she know at this point?”
“She knows that my father represented her mother and that her mother was involved with him.”
“Well then. Both of them are dead and connected. Use that to convince her to exhume her mother’s body.”
“I’m not lying to her any more than I have to. And that plan would lead me to more lies.”
“Then just talk about her mother. Someone wants the winery. Her mother is dead. Have her do an autopsy.”
I shake my head and refill my coffee cup. “Negative again. I’m not putting her through that hell unless my father’s autopsy is suspicious. If there’s nothing to find in his reports, we won’t find anything in her mother’s.”
“While I agree,” he says. “Time is critical when a killer is on the loose, and when does that killer turn to Faith or even you?”
“That PI I hired has someone watching Faith.”
“Does she know he’s watching her?”
“No.”
“Damn, man. I get it. All of it. I know why you can’t tell her, but I don’t envy you the moment she finds out. Especially the part where you sought her out and fucked her to prove she was a killer.”
He left off the part where I wanted to ruin her. And I have to confess everything to her, in some brilliant way, that convinces her I’m not her enemy. In fact, I am the man, who’s bed, and life, may never be the same again, without her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Faith
I killed her.
I blink awake with my confession to Nick in my mind, the scent of him surrounding me, his bed cushioning me. The taste of the rich whiskey I’d drunk with him is still on my tongue, but it does nothing to erase the bitterness of those words or the way I feel them deep in my gut. I wait for the regret over telling Nick to follow, but it doesn’t exist. I didn’t plan to bare my soul to Nick, but I did, and the fact that I felt that I could, especially with my history with Macom, and my mother, brings one word to mind: Possibilities. Considering Nick and I started with a vow for one night, the place we’ve landed is pretty incredible. And scary. Because I really am naked and exposed with this man. That means vulnerability. That means he could hurt me.
Oddly, my fear of him hurting me served as a mechanism to push me to trust him more. The minute he’d told me he’d paid my debt, I’d panicked. I was feeling emotionally exposed, and then he claimed control over the winery situation that I had failed to control myself. He’d been generous, protective, a hero even, but unknowingly, he’d shifted the financial dynamic between us to resemble the one I’d shared with Macom. The next thing I knew I was throwing out the: I killed her statement, and in hindsight, wanting Nick to prove he wasn’t worthy of my trust. Wanting Nick to judge me the way I was judging me.