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  She glanced across the yard to the winery and sheds, now dark silhouettes against a star-strewn sky, and told herself that he was absolutely, positively dead.

  After Handel made sure everything was secure, he took her hand and they hurried around to the back of the house. The screen door was all that separated them from the comforts of home.

  “Worrying about whether or not you lock the garage is pretty silly when we left the back door wide open,” she reminded him.

  “True.” He opened the screen just wide enough to stick his arm in and flip the light switch up on the wall, then laced his fingers together like he was posing for a Charlie’s Angels poster. “I’ll go first,” he said and jerked his head toward the door. “Follow me.”

  She rolled her eyes and entered the kitchen right behind him, glancing around to see if anything was amiss. Nothing was and she started to open the refrigerator to get a glass of juice, but he pulled her away from the door and put a finger to his lips.

  “Keep one hand on my back. No matter what, stay behind me.”

  “Right,” she said, ignoring his silly order. “I’m thirsty. We can play cops and robbers after I get a drink.”

  He turned and looked at her, a crooked grin on his face, and lowered his loaded finger. “Sorry. You’re tired. I was just trying to lighten things up.”

  She shook her head and poured apple juice in her morning coffee cup still sitting on the counter. “Don’t be sorry. You make a very sexy angel. I can’t wait to see what you look like in a bikini.”

  “Thanks, but I draw the line at imaginary guns.”

  “All for the best. I’ve had enough drama for one day.” She drained the juice and rinsed her cup in the sink.

  “Me too.”

  He followed her to the bedroom, flipping lights on and then off as they went. Whether to keep from stubbing a toe or in search of an elusive intruder she didn’t know. While she brushed her teeth she thought she heard him talking to her and stuck her head out the door to catch what he was saying. He stood at the window across the bedroom, peeking through the blinds into the backyard. His cell phone was pressed to his ear and he was saying something about canceling services. What was that about?

  She finished in the bathroom and climbed into bed. He was already there, checking email on his phone. It was already half past one and she was exhausted. When she curled up beside him, he set the phone on the bedside table and shut off the lamp. He put his arm around her, pulling her close.

  “Be careful of your ribs,” she warned.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll scream like a little girl if it hurts. I’m fine.”

  She rested her head in the crook of his arm, her cheek against his chest and listened to the beat of his heart, steady and reassuring. After a minute or two she asked, “Who were you talking to?”

  Was it her imagination or did his heartbeat speed up?

  “When?”

  “Are you really going to counter with a question?”

  He breathed out a laugh and ran his fingers up and down her arm. “Sorry. I don’t want you to get upset.”

  She waited, wondering what he could have done that would make her upset.

  “Manny gave me the name of a man in security. I called him earlier today to set up an appointment and discuss our situation, but now after the vandals hit Margaret’s yard as well…” he trailed off.

  She pushed up on an elbow to look down at him. “Security. Is that code for bodyguard?

  “Maybe.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. You thought it would be a good idea to hire someone to follow me around without my knowing, when I’m already paranoid?”

  He sighed and reached up to stroke her hair hanging over his chest. “Honestly, I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it first, but I couldn’t stand the thought that someone would try to hurt you because of me.”

  She relaxed against him once more. “I get it. But I’m glad you called it off. I’ve been thinking. The guy who came by Saturday… I think he was warning me.”

  “Yeah?”

  “No, I mean he was warning me – not threatening me. Remember I thought the truck was an older midsize SUV? The truck the guy came in Saturday was a brand new Lexus.”

  “Okay, but you never really got a good look at the first truck or anyone in it.”

  “Exactly!” she said, smacking the bed with the palm of her hand. “They got away with it. No one could identify them. So why would they show up the next day in broad daylight just to gloat? Do they have a secret wish for a new home in cellblock 6?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t know. There are a lot of stupid criminals out there or the jails wouldn’t be so full.”

  “True.”

  “It’s late, babe. Let’s sleep on it, okay?”

  “G’night,” she murmured and pulled back to her side of the bed. She heard him trying to get situated comfortably. His ribs were probably aching more than he let on. She reached out and clasped his hand. “Love you,” she whispered.

  He squeezed her fingers.

  She rolled over and tried to relax but the face of the man on Saturday was stuck in her head. Many of the tattoos covering his arms and neck were similar to ones Manny sported. She knew that identifying a suspect by a specific tattoo could be nearly as damning as a clear set of fingerprints. Why then did criminals tend to have so many? Maybe it was like Handel said – there were just a lot of stupid criminals out there. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the dark ceiling until her eyes grew heavy. The last thing she thought of before drifting off to sleep was Manny’s tattoo. A simple overwriting of numbers symbolized a change of heart from the violence and death that MS-13 stood for to the love and forgiveness his mother had prayed for. She wondered if the sentiments had pierced more than skin deep.

  Chapter Eight

  Handel bolted straight up from the bed and then groaned loudly, scaring her awake. “What?” she looked wildly around, wondering what had startled him. The alarm clock on the dresser said 7:17, but it felt as if they’d just fallen asleep.

  He threw his legs over the side of the bed and groaned again. “I forgot about my ribs. Sorry for waking you. I remembered something important. At least I think it’s important.”

  Billie rubbed sleep out of her eyes and watched him reach out for his cell phone on the bedside table. “It’s kind of early to be making a call, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not. Someone called me right before the accident. I completely forgot until now. You know how when you’re half asleep things just pop into your mind sometimes?”

  “Mmm Hmm.” She dropped her head against the pillow. “I’ve heard that’s when we’re most creative. If you come back to bed, I’ll show you how creative I can be when I’m half asleep,” she said in a husky voice that was supposed to be seductive, but didn’t even win a glance from her husband.

  Handel scrolled through his calls, his back to her. “You didn’t erase anything from my phone, did you?” he asked finally.

  She sighed and reluctantly scooted up to a sitting position, leaning against the headboard. “No, I never did anything with your phone, other than plug it in and charge it when you were in the hospital. The nurse found it in your suit pocket when they undressed you before surgery.”

  “That makes no sense,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “All of my incoming calls and texts are gone. Deleted. Anything before I was released from the hospital… gone.” He turned around and looked at her as though he thought maybe he was losing his mind.

  She remembered the daily texts she’d sent him when he was still in a coma. “There should be at least seven texts from me. I sent you one every day.”

  “Gone.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who had access to my room, other than you and the nurses?”

  “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “The doctors, interns, Margaret and Davy. You can’t think someone snuck into your hospital room just to delete your list of calls and texts, do you?

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sp; “I don’t know what to think. I just know they’re gone and that makes me wonder why.”

  “You can always go online and look at your account. The calls will be listed and you can see where they came from, unless the number was blocked. But then why would anyone worry about deleting them?” She yawned and climbed from the bed. “I’m taking a shower. Feel free to join me when you figure this all out.”

  He didn’t look up. His mind was definitely somewhere else.

  When she came out ten minutes later, wrapped in a fluffy white towel, her hair dripping down her back, he was gone. “I guess the honeymoon is over,” she muttered.

  •••••

  She’d dried her hair, applied a little makeup, and dressed in jeans and a bright purple tank top before joining him in his office. He sat at his desk, his laptop open and running, watching the printer in the corner of the room. It made a whirring sound and whipped into motion, rolling out two printed sheets of paper.

  “I’m printing the list of incoming calls from the phone company. There were a couple of out-of-state numbers, but I think those were just telemarketers. They didn’t last more than a few seconds.” Handel took the printouts, marked some lines with a yellow highlighter and held them out for her to see. “There are three numbers I don’t recognize. Any of them look familiar to you?”

  She shook her head. “Nope.”

  After the excitement of the night before Billie hoped he would take it easy today, that maybe they could get out for a while, take a drive, relax. Yeah right. Handel was in his element. In baggy sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt, he was ready to take on the bad guys, whoever they were. He still looked tired, but there was no use telling him so. She might as well join the fun. “So, what’s next?” she asked.

  “The phone company won’t give me the info on blocked calls or unidentified numbers, but they’ll give it to the police.” He picked up his cell. “I’m calling Officer Torn. I think he might help us out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he mentioned the other day that his sister was recently arrested for assault and he was looking for a good lawyer to handle her case.”

  She raised her brows. “How opportunistic of you.”

  “Oh, it’s not for me.” He grinned. “I thought you might like this one. Isn’t it time to get your feet wet in the California court system? Her ex-husband filed assault charges after he broke into the house and tried to rape her. She hit him with a lamp.”

  “So you thought that was right up my alley.” She tried to look peeved, but the thought of getting back into law, helping women who really needed her, sounded pretty appealing with all the financial woes at the winery.

  “Yep. That’s what I thought.”

  She slipped a leg over the edge of his desk and swung her foot back and forth. “Okay, call him,” she said, before she had time to change her mind. “And then you can tell me about this mystery caller and why it’s so important somebody wanted you to forget all about it.”

  •••••

  “The cell number belongs to Hosea Garcia,” Handel said as he got off the phone later that morning with Officer Torn. They were in the kitchen having a late breakfast. “Frank said he did a quick search and found out the guy has been a member of MS-13 for the past eighteen years, has done two stints in the state pen and has quite a colorful arrest record. In fact, he was arrested for driving by and shooting out someone’s front window two years ago. He spent a week in jail and served the rest in community service… planting flowers in city parks.”

  “You don’t say.” She put their empty plates in the dishwasher and turned around, crossing her arms. “He doesn’t have a skull and crossbones on the side of his neck, does he?”

  “Frank said he’d email over a photo.”

  She raised her brows. “Frank?”

  “Officer Torn and I are like this.” He crossed his fingers. “Two law men fighting for the common good.”

  “You’re so full of it.” Billie smiled and reached for his cup. “More coffee?”

  “No thanks,” he said, already opening the email on his phone. “Here it is.”

  She stepped behind his chair to look over his shoulder. “That’s him! The guy from last Saturday. See! There’s the tattoo. That one is hard to forget. Creepy.”

  Handel sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his jaw the way he always did when he was deep in thought. “Now we just have to figure out whether he’s trying to warn us or threaten us. And what does he know about Jimena’s murder?”

  “Have you thought about calling Manny and asking him about this guy? Since they were in the same gang and his sister was supposedly seeing him?”

  He got up and kissed her cheek. “I’m going to do that right now,” he said, and headed back to his office.

  •••••

  When Handel called, Manny was in his car driving. He said he was on his way to see Sloane at county lockup. “I’ll only keep you a minute,” he said. “I remembered a call I received right before my accident.”

  “A call?” Manny turned his radio down.

  “From Hosea Garcia. I think you might know him.”

  He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, I know him,” he finally said. He didn’t sound too excited about admitting it.

  “How well do you know him?”

  “We both joined the gang when we were fourteen. We were like brothers back then. But things change. I went my way and he stayed with the Maras.”

  “So you guys go way back,” Handel pushed, eyes narrowed, listening for the clues that were never volunteered.

  “Yeah, way back. So what did he say?”

  “He said he knew who killed your sister.”

  “Really. And who would that be?”

  Handel expelled a laugh. “Hell if I know. I crashed before he told me.”

  Manny swore and said, “People are driving crazier than usual. Someone just cut in front of me. Was there something else you wanted to ask?”

  “No. Drive safe.”

  “Adiós.”

  Handel sat back in his desk chair and sighed. Why didn’t Manny mention the fact that he had warned Hosea away from his sister? Was he protecting his sister’s reputation or trying to keep himself out of the suspect pool?

  •••••

  Margaret squatted beside her grandfather’s original vine, now uprooted and laying in the dirt. It had been her prized possession. A family heritage worth preserving, unlike other aspects she’d rather forget. She took some cuttings and sat back on her heels with a sigh. The seventy-six-year-old trunk was as thick as a telephone pole and as twisted and weathered as an aged seaman. “If vines could talk,” she said to herself.

  Her grandfather had been in Italy during the war and when he came home, he brought clippings from the Friulia region. He had dreams of growing his own vineyards, making his own wine, and raising his children in the sun. His dreams were uprooted just as this vine, when he had to sell most of the vineyard to the Sanchez family in the Fifties. But he kept this small vineyard, short rows of Tocai Friulano, French Colombard, Malbec, and Cabernet Franc, that he used in his wineblending. She hated to lose this piece of living history.

  She cut the top of the clippings at a slant, cut off the bottom end straight through the lower bud and sliced off all but the two top bud nodes for growth. It was best to plant cuttings in the fall, but if she wanted to preserve these old vines she had to work fast. Unable to sleep after what happened, other than to toss and turn, she’d gotten up at the first rays of light, and stayed busy all morning, preparing soil mixture and filling pots. Now she pushed a fresh clipping into each pot, documenting which vine it came from in the vineyard journal she kept.

  A car turned up the driveway as she was pulling the thick vine stump toward the back of the shed. Gravel crunched under tires as it approached. She looked up from under the brim of her baseball cap. Handel climbed out of Billie’s Mazda, looked around, and spotted her. He waved and started down the hill.
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  Margaret dropped the vine behind the shed and turned back, pulling her gloves off as she came. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you were busy working on that murder trial.”

  He gave her a half smile. “I was, but… Billie went to the winery to take care of business and I found myself thinking about you over here working so hard to preserve Grandfather’s vines. Thought I’d come offer a hand.”

  “Thanks, but I’m pretty much done. You can help carry the dead vines behind the shed if you want. There’s a pair of gloves over there on the bench,” she said, tipping her chin toward the greenhouse working area. She pointed at the dozens of pots lining the row, filled with starter clippings. “I took some from every vine that was uprooted. Besides the original Tocai vine Grandfather brought back from Italy, a couple of our oldest French Colombard vines were run over as well.”

  “I’m sorry if my case caused this trouble.” He stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and gazed around, shaking his head. “I became a lawyer to help people. Thought I could make a difference. Set wrongs right and all that.” He blew the breath of a laugh through his nose. “Not sure what has changed, but I’m beginning to suspect that setting wrongs right is for someone bigger than me.”

  She slapped his shoulder with her dirty gloves. “Hey! Who’s bigger than my big brother? It’s not your fault your case brought out the crazies. I blame the media for that. If they didn’t make murder and mayhem so damn titillating –” she broke off. “How do you know it’s about your case anyway? I know I kind of lost it last night, but Billie’s wrong. Those pictures aren’t proof of anything. Dad could still be very much alive. I’m not saying he is or that this,” she waved a hand at the vineyard, “was his doing, but you must have him on your list of suspects. Am I right?”