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  “Damn cyclists,” he muttered, before releasing her arm.

  She grimaced. “Don’t care for them myself. I think I’ve had about a dozen near collisions since I’ve been here. They’re whipping around all over the place.”

  “Pedestrians need helmets in San Francisco.” He chuckled.

  They found an empty bench by a fountain where a giant concrete fish spewed a continuous arc of water from his mouth. Two little boys bent over the pool on the other side of the fountain, splashing in the water and giggling while their father watched from a nearby bench, a stroller at his side.

  Billie sat down, wondering at the source of the children’s laughter. They wouldn’t be here unless someone they loved was sick or injured. She imagined their mother, like Handel, lying unresponsive in a cold, sterile room, behind stonewalls. How did children continue to find joy in the bleakest of times? Did God give them an innate sense of hope in their naiveté? She longed for some of that.

  The fading sun streaked pink above distant buildings. It reminded her of evenings at home with Handel when he’d take her hand after dinner and lead her toward the vineyard. They’d walk between rows of vines; closed off from the clamoring outside world, and watch the last rays of the sun paint the horizon ahead of them. The vineyard was their sanctuary; common ground where they were able to relax away from family and responsibilities.

  Mr. Alvarez dug in the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a penny. He closed his eyes and flipped it into the pond. “For luck,” he said, taking a seat beside her.

  “I thought you were a praying man,” she teased. “Where does luck come in?”

  He shrugged. “God works in mysterious ways, or so my priest tells me.”

  “I wish he’d work a little less mysteriously,” she said, pushing hair behind her ear. “I could use a blatant miracle right about now.”

  He was quiet for a moment.

  Billie lifted her hair off her neck, feeling a trickle of sweat slip between her shoulder blades. “It’s warmer out here than I thought.”

  “Si,” he said. Sliding an arm along the back of the bench he turned to face her better. “Handel said you’re from Minnesota. Is the temperature cooler there this time of year?”

  “Not really. I’ve gotten kind of spoiled by the weather in the valley though. The city is always hotter.”

  She began to wonder if the man just wanted to make small talk, when he finally took out his wallet and produced a small photograph. “This is Jimena Kawasaki, taken about a year ago.”

  Billie took the photo and looked closely at the face of the woman whom the media and prosecuting attorneys said had been murdered by her own husband. She looked about thirty, with model perfect skin, long, silky black hair, and a dazzling smile. She seemed happy. Content. Billie wondered what happened to turn this stunning beauty into a victim. “She was Latino?”

  “You didn’t know?” Mr. Alvarez slipped the photo back into his wallet. A rather personal place to carry the photo of a murder victim. “That’s the reason Handel had me investigating gang activity. Jimena’s brother is a former member of MS-13, the Maras. They have a heavy presence in the Bay area. They’re into smuggling people over the border, white slavery, drugs… the list goes on. Since Kawasaki has been accused of having connections to Las Boyz, we can’t rule anything out.”

  “Las Boyz? I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.”

  “They’re fairly new to this area, but have already sunk their claws into a good chunk of illegal activity, especially down at the wharf. The Maras have drawn a line in the sand, so to speak, and will not tolerate any more Las Boyz’ infringing on their turf.”

  “You think her brother had something to do with killing her?”

  “Of course not,” he said, shaking his head. His eyes sparked with anger before he turned away. When he spoke again his voice was quiet but laced with steel. “You have to understand, leaving that way of life is extremely dangerous. Old gang members harbor animosity for a long time. Revenge is a given. If Kawasaki truly has ties to Las Boyz, then the Maras may have used this opportunity to beat their opponents back further. And killing Jim would be a bonus for them.”

  The nickname for the murder victim was not lost on Billie. She studied the man’s profile. His jaw clamped tight, his eyes riveted on the pond. Why was he lying to her? “Are you Jimena’s brother?” she asked.

  He blew an angry breath through his nose. “Sí! And I’ll do anything to find her killer.”

  “Does Handel know how strongly you feel about revenge?”

  “He knows what he wants to know – that I have ties to the Maras and could get information. Lawyers tend to turn a blind eye to things that have potential to harm their case.”

  Billie bristled at that. She knew Handel. He would never do anything to intentionally hide the truth. He believed Mr. Kawasaki to be innocent or he wouldn’t be defending him. She knew it with her whole heart.

  “Look,” he slapped his palms down on the legs of his slacks. “I know Handel used you as a sounding board. He told me you’re a lawyer too...”

  “Yes,” she said, “but I’m not a criminal attorney. I specialize in family law.”

  He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “The most criminal type of lawyer.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sorry.” He put up a hand. “Ancient history. Lawyers and I don’t really see eye to eye. Until I met your husband, I swore I’d never trust one again, and I definitely wouldn’t have taken a job from one. Handel managed to change my mind. About him. About a lot of things.”

  “That’s all well and good, but I still don’t know what you want from me.”

  “Just think back. Maybe Handel told you something important and you don’t even realize it. Something that could...”

  “I told you, we don’t talk about work that much.”

  “Something worth getting him killed to delay the trial.”

  “What are you saying? That it wasn’t an accident?” She was finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. Her chest contracted with dread. The excited squeals of the children splashing faded into the background as her heartbeat filled her ears.

  He leaned closer and lowered his voice still more. “Anything is possible when it comes to a turf war. And living in yuppyville wine country doesn’t make you exempt from danger.”

  “I don’t like your tone, Mr. Alvarez.” Billie stood up and faced him. “The police never said anything about the crash being more than… an accident. So I have to wonder what it is you think you know, and why you sound as though you’re threatening me.”

  He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “I’m not threatening you. I’m trying to warn you.”

  “About what?”

  “If the Maras think you know something, whether you do or not –” He broke off and shook his head. “Just be careful. Handel’s my friend. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to his wife on my watch.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not your responsibility.”

  He got up and held out his business card. “Take this. If you think of anything or Handel wakes up, give me a call.”

  When she didn’t respond, he leaned down and placed it on the bench. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Parker.”

  She watched him walk away, head up, muscular arms swinging slow and relaxed at his sides; the slow saunter of a confident man. Manny Alvarez was an enigma. Did he really want to help Handel or was he only seeking revenge for his sister’s murder? And why did she feel there was a whole lot more he wasn’t saying?

  Billie snatched up the card and hurried back inside the hospital. Margaret and Davy would be wondering where she’d disappeared. She couldn’t get what Alvarez said out of her head. Was Handel’s accident actually something more sinister? Did it make any difference? He was still in a coma and she was still locked in this surreal world where she could see and touch him, but not actually be with him.

  The nurse at the station outside Handel’s room waved her over when she stepped out o
f the elevator. “Billie, your visitors went downstairs to get a bite to eat. They said to join them if you got back soon.”

  “Thanks, Chris.” She had been here long enough to be on a first name basis with most of the nurses. She forced a smile. “Hope you warned them off the green Jell-O salad. Those little grated carrots can get stuck in your throat.”

  “Especially when you’re having a laughing fit.” Chris shook her head, giggling as she remembered the conversation at lunch the day before. “When you told me what your mother said, I almost blew some pieces through my nose.”

  “I’m glad it didn’t come to that,” Billie said, smiling. “How long ago did they leave for lunch?”

  Chris slipped one hand in the pocket of her blue scrubs and leaned on the desk with her other hand. “Oh, about fifteen minutes ago,” she said.

  “Thanks.” Billie moved past the desk and opened the door to Handel’s room. His face was pale under the hospital lights. She wondered how he could possibly sleep with the continual glare against his eyelids. He preferred total darkness when he slept. He would even cover the little red glowing light on the flat screen television because it kept him awake.

  She stepped inside and closed the door, flipped off the light and moved beside him. It didn’t make the room completely dark, but at least it wasn’t glaring. She watched him breathe, his chest moving slightly up and down as his lungs expanded and deflated. They’d taken him off the ventilator tube on Wednesday. She’d nearly panicked, worried that without the oxygen he would stop breathing. Dr. Teledaga assured her that his lungs were strong and he was ready to breathe on his own.

  Cupping Handel’s whisker rough cheeks with her hands, she bent and kissed his lips. “Handy, I need you,” she whispered close to his mouth. “I don’t know what to do.”

  He made no movement at her ministrations, but the darkness felt intimate, and she could imagine he was listening. “Your private investigator friend came by. He doesn’t seem to believe your crash was an accident. He thinks it has something to do with gangs.” She brushed his hair back, letting her fingers linger along his ear. “I told him I didn’t know anything. And I’m sorry, Handy. I’m so sorry.” A tear dripped off her nose. “We’re partners in this marriage, but I don’t act like it. I don’t mean to shut you out, but I do. What’s wrong with me? I thought I was past the trust issue thing.”

  There was a soft knock on the door and Billie dashed the tears from her face. She straightened as Margaret opened the door.

  “Can I come in?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Of course. Where’s Davy?”

  “He stopped off to wash his hands. He had a jelly donut and the jelly attacked him.”

  Billie smiled. “I love that kid.”

  Margaret let the door swing shut behind her. She stood quietly, waiting.

  “Thanks,” Billie said.

  “For what?”

  “For not asking what’s wrong.”

  She shrugged. “I know what’s wrong. Handel has always been there for me too and now the tables are turned and there’s nothing I can do. Except wait.”

  Davy pushed through the door, managing to smack Margaret before she could move out of the way. “Sorry, Mom.”

  “Slow down. This is a hospital, you know.”

  “Okay, I just wanted to tell you guys what I saw in the…” his voice trailed off and his eyes widened as he stared past Billie.

  Hope caught in her throat. She turned and met the cloudy gaze of the love of her life. “Handy,” she barely breathed the word, afraid she’d wake and it would be another dream.

  “Why’s the lights off?” Davy asked, and flipped the switch up.

  Handel’s eyelids fluttered closed, and he groaned softly.

  “Get the nurse!” Billie ordered.

  Davy threw open the door and yelled, “911! My uncle’s awake!”

  Margaret didn’t even bother to reprimand him, she was so busy looking at her brother and sobbing.

  Billie didn’t cry. He was awake. It was time to rejoice. She raised his hand to her cheek and said the words she’d not had the chance to say before his surgery. “I’m here, Handy. I’ll always be here. I love you.”

  Chapter Two

  Handel managed to talk the doctors into signing his release on Monday. He was still moving gingerly about, but the surgical procedure that Doctor Teledaga performed when he was brought in, inserting titanium plates to stabilize his broken ribs, made it much easier to breathe and move about without excessive pain. He actually thought he’d be ready to return to court in another week. Billie had her doubts about that.

  She shook her head as she watched him dress in his street clothes. He winced as he bent to pull up his slacks, but when his eyes met hers, he smiled. She took the newly pressed, blue, oxford dress shirt off the hanger she’d brought and helped him into it, then slowly buttoned it for him while he stood submissively still. His grin was contagious and she smiled back, thrilled he was coming home to her even though she was leery of him leaving the hospital so soon.

  “What are you so happy about?” she teased. “With your broken ribs, this is as close to making love as you’re going to get for about four months.”

  “Say it isn’t so,” he bent his head and nuzzled the side of her neck, sending a tingle down her spine. “A couple broken ribs can’t stop the love lawyer.”

  She breathed out a laugh and pushed his head back, holding his face between her hands. His blue eyes twinkled, but she grew serious. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. Promise me.”

  “Okay,” he said, his voice light and carefree as he moved in to kiss her.

  “No. I mean it,” she said, dropping her hands and stepping away for clarity. She knew it was insane to ask for something so intangible, but she couldn’t help it.

  He reached out and drew her close again, slid his hands slowly up her arms as though his touch was a promise. “Do you want that notarized?” he asked, his voice gentle with understanding.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  His lips moved over hers and she kissed him back as passionately as a woman could with three inches of space between them to spare his broken ribs. She felt a tear drop on her nose and slide off. She pulled back. “What?” she asked, alarmed by his show of emotion. Was he in pain?

  “I thought I lost you,” he murmured. “I dreamed you left me and went back to Minnesota. That you didn’t love me or California anymore.” His brows drew together in a frown of confusion. “That sounded really girly, didn’t it?”

  “The doctor did say your pain meds might make you act a little loopy.” She grinned. “At least that’s your story and we’re sticking to it.”

  “Got it.”

  He picked up his overnight bag, but she took it from him. “No lifting. Save your strength for tonight.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. I was talking about all the people who will drop by to welcome you home.”

  “After sleeping for a week, I’m sure I can handle a little conversation.”

  “If you say so. I’m betting you’ll be in bed by seven o’clock.”

  “Only if you’re there with me.”

  There was a rap at the door and Chris stuck her head in. “Ready to check out of here?” she asked, holding the door open to push a wheelchair through.

  Handel frowned. “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need that.”

  “That’s what they all say.” Chris flipped the metal feet pedals down and motioned toward the chair like Vanna White presenting a fabulous new car. “But we don’t take chances,” she quirked her eyebrows, “especially with lawyers.”

  “That is so unfair.” He shook his head. “Lawyers get such a bad rap. We’re verbally abused on a regular basis. Ninety percent of the things we’re accused of are totally bogus.”

  Chris rolled her eyes. “Ten percent should get you put in jail,” she said.

  Billie stifled a grin and waited for Handel to sit down. Then s
he set the bag on his lap and picked up her purse. “We’re out of here.”

  “Good riddance, I say,” Handel stage whispered back at her. “This place is a real snoozer.”

  •••••

  Billie wasn’t surprised when they pulled up outside the house and saw Sally and Loren over by the winery sitting at one of the picnic tables. It was past closing time but they were obviously waiting around to welcome Handel home from the hospital. They waved and started toward them.

  Handel had the door of the car open before Billie had shut off the ignition. He struggled to climb out, wincing a bit when he twisted to stand. She knew he was stiff and sore from sitting for so long, but he wore his usual good-natured grin. “Hey, you two! Come on over and celebrate!” he called. “I’m pretty sure we have a bottle of wine around here somewhere.”

  Billie wanted to hurry around and help him inside but he was having none of it. He shook Loren’s hand and let Sally give him a kiss on the cheek in lieu of a hug, then gestured them toward the house. “Join the party.”

  Billie grabbed the bags and hurried to open the front door. She hadn’t been home for two weeks and couldn’t remember what state she’d left the house in. Not that it was ever very messy with just the two of them. But she was her mother’s daughter and it was drilled into her at a young age that you didn’t invite people over if you hadn’t cleaned from top to bottom. She unlocked the door and flipped the hall light on. So far so good.

  “I at least expected Margaret and Davy to show up,” Handel was saying behind her. “Where is that little rugrat? He’s usually hanging around so much we can’t get rid of him.”

  “I think Margaret was going to watch Adam play tonight at some club downtown,” Billie said, holding the door open. “I’m sure she would be here if she hadn’t already promised.”

  “Loren and I are heading over there later tonight too,” Sally added. “Your brother needs some friendly faces in the crowd. Thought we’d boost his ego by pretending to be fans.”