Chapter 10
Ten
Declan
The tasting room glows like a jewel box, warm light spilling through tall windows, laughter bouncing off glass and oak.
The air smells like vanilla, oak, and polished success.
Guests crowd shoulder to shoulder, holding stemmed glasses of wine worth more than a tank of gas, swirling and nodding like they understand what “bright cherry finish” means.
I never really got it. Paying hundreds to taste a dozen wines that could all knock you sideways if you drank enough of them. But watching them now—laughing, smiling, leaning close to Tarryn like she’s the reason the world tastes this good… I get it.
She is.
This is her doing. Every detail, from the deep red drapes to the gold foil labels that gleam under the lights.
She rebuilt Paradise Hill from a small Canadian vineyard that her family had run for generations and turned it into something people line up to see, taste, and buy.
She had plenty of help, but she gets all the credit.
She moves through the crowd like she owns the air they breathe, hand brushing shoulders, smile easy, voice confident. I can’t look away. A few days ago, she was standing in smoke and ruin. Now, she’s the heartbeat of this place.
Someone passes me a glass of their reserve Pinot, and I take it just to blend in. It’s good. Really good. But what’s better is seeing her like this—free, radiant, unafraid.
At least, that’s what I want to believe.
Because earlier this afternoon, everything tilted.
The ornament showed up just before the event—burnt, blackened, the same ornament from last year. She’d gone pale when she saw it, and the police just left. They collected it, took photos, and promised to run forensics. Everyone agreed it wasn’t random. Someone wanted her to see it.
They decided not to cancel tonight. Too many people had come too far. But the tension has been running under the surface all evening like an electric hum.
I slip out the side door to get some air, phone in my hand. The evening’s air is cool, crisp with the scent of oak barrels and wet vines. The sound of music fades behind me.
I call Beckett. He answers on the first ring. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah. For now.” I glance back at the tasting room, the golden light glowing through the glass. “But I wanted you to know.” I tell him about the ornament and the fire and police investigations. “They think it’s connected to the previous fire.”
Beckett swears under his breath. “You serious?”
“As a heart attack.” I run a hand through my hair. “They’re pulling camera footage from the road, but whoever left it must’ve known where the old system didn’t reach. I told Tarryn we’d make sure everything’s covered. The cameras she ordered last year—she said they were never installed.”
“Of course they weren’t,” he mutters. “Zach disappeared and left, and Dad didn’t want to be the kind of employer where employees are always on camera.”
“I figured. Anyway, I don’t want her dealing with this tonight. The event’s packed, and she deserves to enjoy it. But I could use backup. The police suggested we check the property. Make sure there’s nothing else we missed.”
“I’ll text my brothers.”
A few seconds later, my phone buzzes, one after another:
Beckett: Another incident at the vineyard. 911.
Greyson: On my way.
Ryker: Be there in a second. Sadie is joining me.
Kingston: I’ll be there in fifteen.
I pocket the phone and take one last look at the glow from the tasting room. Tarryn’s laugh drifts through the open door. She’s earned this night. She shouldn’t have to worry about shadows creeping back in.
Headlights appear at the end of the drive. First Greyson’s SUV, then Beckett’s truck, followed by Ryker’s. Kingston’s helicopter lands on the helipad. The brothers step out in sequence, grim, ready, moving with that unspoken coordination they always have when something threatens their own.
Beckett walks up first, eyes scanning the dark. “Where was it left?”
“I was with her. They dropped it outside the tasting room door. The police took it already. They bagged it and will run tests, but I spoke with the marshal, and he said they think whoever left it parked along the road and walked up.”
Greyson’s jaw flexes. “Ballsy move.”
“Calculated,” I correct. “They wanted her to see it and to know someone’s still watching.”
Ryker whistles low, scanning the vines. “Cameras, tonight. No point waiting.”
Kingston nods, already heading for his helicopter. “Got the equipment. Motion sensors too. We’ll do the perimeter first.”
The vineyard’s quiet except for the distant hum of traffic from the highway. Crickets pulse in the grass, and every so often, the faint laughter from the tasting room drifts across the night. It feels wrong, too peaceful for the kind of threat that lingers just beyond the lights.
We move in pairs, flashlights cutting narrow paths through the rows. The earth’s cold and damp. Beckett checks the fence line while I handle the southern stretch toward the lake. Nothing obvious—no footprints, no fresh tire tracks—but the sense of being watched clings to the air.
When we circle back, Kingston’s on a ladder attaching the first camera to a post near the entrance. “These’ll run to the main system. Full coverage once we loop the back side.”
Beckett checks his watch. “I ran into Jonas Goodwin. He said they’ll send someone tomorrow to go over footage once these are live. We’ll hand them the login.”
“Good,” I say. “The more eyes, the better.”
Ryker leans against the truck, wiping his hands on a rag. “How is Tarryn handling this?”
“She knows it’s serious,” I admit. “And she’ll want to look around after everyone leaves. I insisted she enjoy the VIP tasting. She deserves tonight.”
Greyson’s voice softens. “Our dad made us award-winning wine, and she’s catapulted us so far beyond what we ever thought possible. Whoever’s trying to scare her picked the wrong family.”
“Do you think it’s the Dempseys?” I ask, knowing full well the family feud goes back generations and to when Black Bear Valley was founded.
“It’s doubtful,” Ryker says. “My wife is a Dempsey, and that has given us a funnel into what they’re thinking.”
“I wonder if it isn’t Zach. He sabotaged the water table over the summer and then disappeared.”
I look at him shocked. “I just moved back. What happened?”
“At my wedding,” Beckett starts, “he left the party, and they followed him up to the shared well cap ready to pour about fifty gallons of vinegar into the water table. He’d been doing it for a while.”
“Was he arrested?”
“The police are looking for him. It affected our vines, and it’s the one place we share a well with the Dempsey’s, so we figure it was designed to spoil the relationship. We ended up becoming closer, but we’re compensating the Dempsey’s for the vines and fruit loss.”
“That’s huge.”
We stand in silence for a moment, looking toward the tasting room. Through the window, Tarryn raises her glass to a table of guests, smiling, radiant under the lights. The applause that follows carries across the vines like a promise.
I murmur, “We’ll keep her safe.”
Beckett nods. “Damn right, we will.”
Kingston climbs down from the ladder. “Two more cameras to mount, one near the barn, one facing the road. After that, every inch of this property will be covered.”
The others disperse again, their flashlights sweeping the rows, beams flickering over bare branches and the skeletal silhouettes of vines. I hang back a moment longer, watching her through the window. She’s laughing at something one of the guests said, her hand over her heart, her eyes bright.
This place is the future she fought for. And tonight, with her family working quietly in the shadows, it’s also surrounded by protection.
The cameras go up one by one, their small indicator lights blinking red in the dark.
By the time her brothers are done, the vineyard feels sealed, watched over.
When we regroup by the trucks, Beckett claps me on the shoulder. “You did the right thing calling us.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you.”
He half smiles. “You think we’d let her face this alone?”
“No,” I say, looking back at the glow of the tasting room windows, “I never thought that for a second.”
Music drifts out again as someone opens the door. A burst of laughter, then applause. For now, everything looks perfect.
But the cameras hum quietly in the dark, recording, waiting, guarding what she’s built.
And I can’t shake the feeling that whoever left that ornament isn’t done yet.
We finish the setup in silence, only the low thrum of generators and the crunch of gravel beneath our boots filling the air. When the last camera’s light turns red, Kingston climbs down from the ladder, wiping his hands on a rag.
“That’s it,” he says. “Full perimeter coverage. If someone so much as sneezes out there, we’ll know.”
Greyson glances toward the tasting room. “She’s still going strong in there.”
“She doesn’t quit,” Beckett says softly. “She never did.”
We stand together for a moment, watching through the glass. The music’s still playing, and people are clustered into small groups. Tarryn moves among them, radiant, confident, utterly unaware of the quiet army assembled in the dark around her.
Ryker mutters, “You’d think after what Zach did, whoever’s doing this would’ve gotten the message. The Paradise family doesn’t scare easy.”
“No,” I say quietly, “but they protect their own.”
Beckett turns toward me. “You’re part of that now, you know.”
I don’t answer right away. My eyes stay fixed on Tarryn. “I don’t take that lightly.”
He nods. “Didn’t think you would.”
One by one, the brothers pack up their tools and head out, the engines of their trucks rumbling softly as they turn down the drive. Kingston stays last, syncing the cameras with the main server before closing his laptop. “You’re good here?” he asks.
“Yeah. Thanks for coming.”
“Always.” He gives a short nod and disappears into the night. I hear the helicopter lift off and see him head toward the other side of the lake.
I stand there for a while, letting the quiet settle. The red indicator lights blink along the posts now, tiny dots of safety scattered across the dark. It feels like a promise.
When I finally head back toward the tasting room, the music hits me again, louder, fuller, alive.
Through the window, Tarryn’s toasting a small crowd, the guests raising their glasses high.
Her smile reaches her eyes this time, and for the first time all night, I think maybe she believes they’re safe.
She catches sight of me near the doorway and gives a small wave, a silent thank you I feel all the way through me.
I nod back, keeping the rest to myself.
Because she doesn’t need to know that while she was clinking glasses, her four brothers and an emergency medical technician were out in the cold, making sure no one could ever hurt her again.
The vineyard stretches behind me, quiet and still, cameras humming softly in the dark.
And I make myself a silent promise—whoever left that ornament won’t get another chance. Not on my watch.