Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Monk wrestled with the beast inside him, the one that wanted to remove whoever this dude was from Helia’s orbit.
Possibly permanently. He’d seen the fear in her eyes.
And the heartbreaking confusion. As if doubting her own experience.
Helia wasn’t the first woman he’d met so stunned by physical aggression that she froze in disbelief.
He hated seeing that look on anyone, but on Helia? Nope, not acceptable.
“Who the hell are you?” Hunched to his left and holding the shoulder where Monk had strategically pinched a nerve, the dude’s question came out more a squeak than a demand. It took less than a second to dismiss the pretty boy as any sort of real threat—at least to him.
“A friend,” he replied. Helia inched up behind him, her shoulder brushing against his leather jacket in a swirl of lavender.
“This is a private conversation.” Beady brown eyes narrowed as he spoke. Monk supposed he was a relatively good-looking guy, in the way every other rich, entitled bro he’d ever come across was.
“This isn’t a conversation at all,” Monk replied.
“Climb back into your compensation car and drive away. If Helia ever wants to see or talk to you again, it will be on her terms. And you will not touch her,” he added.
He thought about qualifying that with “unless that’s what she wants,” but the words wouldn’t come out.
The dude shifted, as if he could sway Helia with his gaze like that python in The Jungle Book.
Monk shifted with him, keeping her from his view.
His eyes narrowed again, making his nose and chin look out of proportion to the rest of his face.
Monk took a small step toward him. Predictably, he stepped back.
Monk flashed him a menacing smile and leaned forward. The guy’s eyes widened, foretelling his imminent capitulation.
Three…two…one.
“We’re not through discussing this, Helia,” he said, before spinning away and lowering himself into his ridiculous car. Not that Monk disliked the Maserati; they were sweet rides. But if this guy knew how to properly handle one, Monk would eat his leather jacket.
The yellow car turned and raced down the drive. Monk snorted at the cloud of dust. Yeah, predictable.
“Thank you.”
Turning, he met Helia’s gaze. The surprise in her eyes when the guy grabbed her told him it was likely the first time anything like that had happened to her. Still, the shame he saw there now had his stomach twisting in on itself.
“I’m glad I could help. He an ex?”
Her gaze darted to the empty drive before traveling back to him.
She shook her head. “I’ve known Derek for five or six years.
We went on a few dates this fall. It never went further than dinner.
We had zero chemistry. Rather than let it drag on, I told him we were better off as friends, nothing more.
” Again, her eyes traveled to the road, and she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“I’m not even sure that’s a good idea anymore. ”
It wasn’t, but he wouldn’t tell her that. She’d just had one man try to bully her; she didn’t need another.
Wanting to erase the confusion and fear of the past few minutes, he slowly turned in a circle, taking in his surroundings.
“The place looks great. It’s changed since we were kids.
” The big house had always been there, as had the large outbuilding.
But the squat square building to his left, the stone barnlike structure, and a second cottage were new.
As were the extensive gardens. “It looks like a movie set. Even in the winter.”
She smiled when his eyes met hers again. “It’s been in a few movies, actually.”
“No shit? Uh, sorry. I mean, really?”
She laughed, the sound easing the tightness in his chest. “Really. Six of them. Some only for standard background shots, but one, a mystery, filmed almost the entire movie in the hall,” she said, nodding to the original outbuilding.
Once again, he took in the setting. Sundaram had always been special—especially to him—but now it was stunning. Almost fairy tale–like.
“Is that you, Collin?”
He turned toward the newer barn structure to see Vanessa and Harry Shaw walking out. He had no idea how long they’d been married—maybe forty years—and yet they came toward him holding hands.
“Mrs. Shaw, Mr. Shaw, it’s good to see you,” he said, a smile touching his lips for the first time since he’d heard of his father’s death.
In the four years between first meeting Helia and leaving to enlist, the Shaws had welcomed him into their home and their family.
They’d never asked about what they most certainly knew, or guessed, about his home life.
Instead, they’d offered him love and laughter and acceptance, teaching him more about family, real family, in those four years than he’d learned in the prior fourteen.
“Now that we’re all adults, Vanessa and Harry is fine,” Vanessa said, letting go of her husband’s hand and opening her arms to him.
He didn’t accept physical affection from many people, but the Shaws were one of the few, and with zero hesitation, he stepped into her embrace, familiar even after all these years.
Her hands lingered on his shoulders after she released him, and he thought she might be blinking back tears, but Harry moved up and nudged her out of the way.
Always an affectionate father, he didn’t bother with a handshake and embraced Monk as well.
“Why don’t we head into the house, and I can make us all a cup of tea or coffee?” Vanessa offered. “We have wine, too, of course, but we have a very early morning tomorrow and I’m not sure if you’re staying?” She let the question hang, her obvious preference for him to stay written on her face.
“I’m heading home tonight. But I’ll be back,” he said. Three sets of eyes flashed with disappointment. “I’ll stay longer next time,” he added. Relief replaced the disappointment. “Coffee would be great.”
Vanessa smiled and hooked her arm around his. “Excellent, and you can tell us all about what you’ve been up to these past years. You’re certainly taking care of yourself,” she said, patting his biceps.
“Mom!” Helia protested on a laugh as they started toward the main house.
“Just stating a fact,” Vanessa called over her shoulder.
He might have been gone for nearly two decades, but the table Vanessa gestured to as they entered the living quarters remained the same.
No surprise since it had lasted two hundred years before being shipped to California by Vanessa’s French father from some old farmhouse the family owned in the south of France.
“Now,” Harry said, taking two mugs from his wife and sliding one to Monk, “tell us everything you’ve been up to since we last saw you.”
All three members of the Shaw family looked at him wearing almost identical expressions of curiosity.
He saw no judgment, no censure, for essentially leaving them behind.
More than anything, that made him regret he’d done precisely that.
At the time, it had felt like what he’d needed to do—leave everything about his life in Napa Valley behind. But now…now he wondered.
“You’re here now,” Helia said, as if reading his mind.
“And we’re glad,” Vanessa added. “I mean, we’re really glad—not just that you’re here with us, but that you’re here at all. You know we supported you going into the army, but don’t think we haven’t worried.”
“I should have let you know,” he blurted out. Hindsight was twenty-twenty and all that, but these people had been his family. Then again, he hadn’t fully appreciated what that meant until he’d met his brothers.
“You can let us know now,” Harry said. “Let’s start with the obvious, are you still in the service?”
Monk shook his head. “I live in Mystery Lake. Have been there for almost seven years.”
“Only three hours from here,” Harry said.
“They have some nice wineries north of there,” Vanessa added.
“Why Mystery Lake?” Helia asked.
They seemed genuinely curious, so he told them.
Told them about how a motorcycle ride with five of his brothers turned into forever when Dulcie got a flat tire, forcing them to stop.
He told them about the men who made up the club and the businesses they ran in town—all seven of them.
And he told them about his new “sisters” as four of his brothers had recently found women they intended to spend the rest of their lives with.
They were finishing their second cup of coffee when someone knocked on the door. “Come in,” Vanessa called.
A blond head popped around the corner of the door as it opened, her gaze sweeping over them before landing on Helia. Her expression set the Shaws on alert, and they straightened in their seats.
“Everything okay, Beatrice?” Helia asked.
Beatrice grimaced. “I heard from Alice at the market, who heard from Joe in the dispatch center, that Justin Flannery was found dead in his house this morning.”
Judging by the sharp inhales of his hosts, Monk figured whoever this Justin was, the family knew him.
“No,” Helia said. “Do they know what happened?”
Beatrice shook her head. “Not yet. Or not that Alice knew.” She paused. “I wanted to tell you…”
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Helia said with a concerned frown. “I’ll stop by his mother’s house tomorrow.”
Beatrice lingered, then nodded. “I dropped the invoices from the market on your desk,” she said to Harry. “They’ll come electronically as well, but you know how Alice is loath to rely on technology.”
Harry chuckled. “Thanks, I’ll get to them once we’re through with the wedding tomorrow.”
Beatrice nodded, then gave a tiny wave and left, closing the door behind her.
“Wow, I was not expecting that,” Helia said, her hands wrapped around her mug, her gaze resting on the table.
“A friend?” Monk asked.
Vanessa nodded. “We’ve known the family since we moved here. Justin grew up with his dad on the East Coast but moved out here for college and stayed. We met him when he began helping Gina—his mom—with her wine accessories business.”
“We dated for a couple of years,” Helia said. She’d married, divorced, and dated more than one guy—obviously she hadn’t pined for him. He hadn’t wanted that for her, but he felt the sharp sting nonetheless.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” He wanted to ask why she ended it, but it wasn’t his place. It also wasn’t appropriate given the Shaws had lost someone they obviously cared for.
Harry’s knowing eyes landed on him. “And how are you doing?”
He lifted a shoulder. “It’s been…interesting. Roger’s death came as a surprise, mostly because I haven’t thought about him in years. But in some ways, I’m surprised it didn’t happen earlier.” His father was no stranger to illicit drugs or a reckless lifestyle.
“Will you be here for the memorial?” Vanessa asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to stand there and pretend I feel anything about his death.
” He hadn’t told the Shaws much about his home life, but he hadn’t needed to.
“Let the valley bury one of their own with their illusions of him intact.” Aside from his uncanny business acumen, fooling people was Roger Wilde’s other gift.
Assuming things hadn’t changed, the valley would mourn the loss of a philanthropist, a fourth-generation winemaker, and an active member of the food and wine community.
Monk didn’t feel the need to correct them. He had no interest in dredging up the past, but also didn’t want to risk harming the reputation of the Bacco label when he didn’t know what he’d ultimately end up doing with the property.
He frowned. “That reminds me, do you know why the tasting room is closed? My father was never involved in running it, and I assume that hasn’t changed, so I was surprised to see it all but abandoned.”
Vanessa barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “All of Bacco’s employment contracts stipulated that the winery would close for a month after his death and the employees would mourn him. Some sort of weird fascination with Victorian death rituals, and his lawyer went along with it.”
Yeah, that sounded like his dad…the world according to Roger Wilde, with him at the center. “Please tell me he at least arranged for them to be paid?”
Helia nodded. “He did, thankfully.” A month of no work could be a death sentence for some in the valley, many of whom lived paycheck to paycheck. “Alessio said he even included bonuses to make up for the tips the tasting room staff would miss out on.”
“Generous guy,” Monk muttered. He didn’t doubt his father’s generosity had more to do with preserving his reputation than out of respect for the people who worked for him. But at least he could rest easy knowing his father hadn’t fucked over the staff with his bizarre demand.
“I should get going,” he said, pushing back from the table. “You all have a big day tomorrow, and I have a three-hour drive home.”
“I didn’t see your car when I was at Bacco earlier,” Helia said, rising with him. Vanessa and Harry followed.
“I needed to burn a little energy, so I parked in town and walked up,” he said, gathering their mugs.
“Why don’t I give you a ride back?” Helia offered. “I’ll swing by Bacco on my way home and grab the cases of wine Alessio left out for me.”
“For the wedding tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’ll take those,” Harry said, holding his hands out for the mugs.
Monk hesitated, then handed them over with a “Thank you.”
Helia nodded in response to his question. “That’s why I was over earlier. I wanted to check where Alessio left them. I planned to head over later and pick them up. I can do it now instead.”
Another knock at the door stopped him from responding, and they turned as Vanessa called out for whoever it was to enter.
Monk didn’t like how lackadaisically they took security, but since the Shaws’ living quarters were on the third floor of the main house, he supposed not many people who weren’t known to the family popped by.
The door swung open and a man wearing jeans and a long-sleeved Henley stepped through, followed by a woman dressed nearly the same. Both wore badges on their hips.
“Jess, Carter, what a surprise,” Vanessa said.
The arrival of two detectives not long after receiving news of Justin Flannery’s death had Monk’s instincts coming to attention in a swirl of unease.
“Mrs. Shaw,” the male detective said with a nod before his gaze landed on Helia. “Earlier today, Justin Flannery was found dead in his home. If you wouldn’t mind, we have some questions for you, Helia.”