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  “You did the right thing, ma’am. Confronting them would have just given them a bigger target.” He gave a curt nod toward Handel. “We’ll definitely file a ballistics report but unless the gun is used in another crime and we catch the owner red-handed, there’s not much chance of knowing who came here tonight and fired that shot. You understand that, don’t you, counselor?”

  The officer had obviously recognized Handel at some point. He’d probably watched the news about the trial and seen the report on Handel’s accident and the trial’s postponement.

  Handel sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Officer Torn,” he said. “I don’t want to come across as a pain in the ass but after what we’ve just been through, and now this…”

  “I understand. We’ll do all we can and I’ll have a patrol car come by a couple more times tonight just in case it wasn’t a random act of violence.”

  “Thank you.”

  Officer Torn touched his finger to the brim of his hat and nodded. “Goodnight, folks. Make sure your doors are locked and your porch light stays on the rest of the night. A patrol will check things out again in a couple hours, but chances are you’ll never see or hear from these guys again.”

  “Let’s hope not,” Billie said. She watched the officers get in their car, then closed and locked the front door.

  Handel was at the window again, inspecting the bullet hole. He slowly shook his head. “I can’t believe this.”

  She came up behind him and gently eased her arms around his waist, trying not to put any pressure on his ribs. “I know. That window will probably cost a couple thousand bucks to replace. I hope insurance covers drive-by’s.”

  He turned and cupped her face with his hands, one side of his mouth curving up. “I wasn’t talking about the window.”

  “No?” she asked, wide-eyed and innocent.

  “No. I was thinking that my chances of winning the lottery might be higher than I once thought.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, think about it. What are the chances of a criminal attorney marrying a woman so many people want to kill? Probably only one in a million, right? So, with those odds conquered, what’s stopping me from beating even bigger odds?”

  Billie scoffed and pulled back. “Now you’re just being mean. Here I was trying to be all calm and matter-of-fact about the situation to keep your stress level low, and you come right out and accuse me of being the problem.”

  He laughed and pulled her close again. “I never said you were the problem exactly.”

  “Oh really? Cause that’s what I heard.”

  “Maybe you should get your hearing checked,” he whispered, and began leaving a trail of kisses down her neck and along her collarbone.

  “I don’t think this is a very good idea,” she said, suddenly breathless. She closed her eyes under the fresh onslaught, and moaned when his mouth found hers. It had been so long.

  Handel deepened the kiss, his hands exploring her body as though he needed a reminder of what he’d forgotten while he was asleep.

  “We can’t,” she gasped, pulling away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Then be gentle with me,” he teased. He took her hand and led her down the hall toward the bedroom.

  Chapter Three

  When Billie woke up early the next morning, Handel was already missing from his side of the bed. She lay there drowsy, listening to the sound of birds calling outside the window. Not far away she could hear the tap tap tap of a woodpecker searching for bugs in the bark of an old tree. And from somewhere – probably in the woodworker’s shed she had allowed Ernesto for personal use on weekends – a radio played Mexican pop music.

  She reached out and pulled Handel’s pillow against her chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him. After they’d made love the night before, he’d fallen almost immediately into an exhausted sleep. Still wide awake, she’d stared at his profile in the dark, one hand lightly resting on his chest, and felt the reassuring rise and fall of his lungs sending oxygen to his brain. And she finally told herself he would be all right.

  It wasn’t hard to imagine losing him. In fact, it was all too easy. Imagining that he would still be here ten years from now, that their lives would be happy and carefree, and that their love would survive whatever life threw at them, was much more difficult.

  She’d had her innocence ripped from her at the age of eight, lost her father at the age of fifteen. She knew about loss. What she wanted to experience was joy. The kind of joy that didn’t depend on circumstance, because circumstances change. People leave. Hearts are broken.

  Joy? She’d thought about it a lot in the past week. Joy must be an internal position, completely unaffected by the external. An inner sanctum where car crashes and cancer and divorce and failing businesses and broken dreams, can’t penetrate to destroy.

  She threw her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee wafted into the room and she knew exactly where her husband had disappeared to so early. She pulled on a t-shirt and panties and padded down the hall.

  Handel had turned the smaller of the guest bedrooms into an office for himself soon after they were married. He’d furnished it with an oak desk and hutch, an easy chair and a tall reading lamp. A carpenter had been hired to install bookshelves along one wall, leaving room for a 32-inch flat screen television in the center. Most of his reference books were at his law office downtown, so there was room for Billie’s books as well, with shelf room to spare for framed photos and memorabilia.

  She paused in the open doorway and watched Handel rifling through papers on his desk. He was so intent on what he was looking for that he didn’t hear her come in. She cleared her throat to get his attention. “Is this what you call rest and recuperation? I don’t think Doctor Chao would have signed that release form yesterday if he thought you’d go right back to it.”

  He let his eyes slide over her curves, a boyish grin on his face. “Good morning, sexy,” he said. He picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, watching her over the rim. His hair stuck up at the back and his eyes still looked sleepy, but in faded jeans and an old t-shirt that said, My book club reads between the wines, he looked like a cool glass of sangria.

  She went and stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “You could have at least stayed in bed past seven,” she reprimanded. “I woke up all alone.”

  He set the cup down and reached out for her. She went willingly, curled into his lap and let him tell her good morning the old fashioned way – with slow, thorough kisses that deepened until she felt hollow and needy all over again.

  Just when they were getting to the point of no return, Handel’s cell phone rang. He pulled away with a ragged breath. “Sorry, babe.”

  She stood up licking her lips. “It’s all right. I need some coffee anyway.”

  He answered the phone and she picked up his cup and went to sit comfortably in his easy chair to finish it. His gaze narrowed at her thievery, but his attention was quickly diverted by whatever the caller was telling him. “What did the judge say?” he asked.

  Billie cradled the mug in her hands and sipped, listening to the one-sided conversation.

  “That’s fine. We’ll make it work. I’ll be in the city on Monday. We can talk then.” He ended the call and set the phone down, his gaze riveted on the dark flat screen behind her head. He looked a million miles away.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked. It went against all of her separation of work and home beliefs to ask the question, but she didn’t want this wall between them anymore. She was beginning to think that Adam was right. Marriage meant sharing everything and their work was a big part of who they each were.

  He blinked and met her gaze. “Just some loose ends with the case.”

  The way he said it made her worry antenna come up. What wasn’t he saying? Maybe it was time to talk about his accident and what Alvarez suspected. She wanted him to heal and not worry about the case, but realistically that was not going to happen
. He refused to even discuss letting another attorney take over. He was lead and he had no intention of letting that position go to another. This was a big case with lots of publicity, which meant if he won a not guilty verdict, high profile cases would come flooding in. He could pick and choose.

  “Handel, before you came out of your coma,” she began, “someone came to see me. He said he was working for you. A private investigator by the name of…”

  “Manny Alvarez,” he supplied, and lifted an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  She shrugged. “There wasn’t really a chance until now. The last couple days have been sort of busy.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “You woke up. The doctors took over. We came home. There was a party. I was shot at. We made love. Now I’m telling you.”

  “Right. Well, what did he want to talk to you about?” he asked, eyes narrowed.

  “He wanted to know if you had any leads for him to investigate.” She got up, holding his now empty mug. “I told him we don’t usually discuss business, but…” She sat on the edge of his desk and took his hand in hers. “I want to change all that. I want you to be a part of everything in my life, and that includes Fredrickson’s. I don’t want to keep my life all compartmentalized anymore. At least not from you.” She smiled. “From now on, our lives will be one big, old, messy, junk drawer. How’s that sound?”

  He laughed and squeezed her fingers. “The messier the better, I say. But what brought this on?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. “Alvarez told me that your accident might have been deliberate.”

  “I see.”

  “So he’s talked to you about it already?”

  “That’s what got me out of bed so early. He called as soon as he heard I was released from the hospital. Said he wanted to warn me.”

  “That’s what he told me too, but there was something not right…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. How did you happen to hire the brother of the victim to investigate for the defense? Are you sure you can trust him?”

  “Kawasaki thinks I can. He trusts him.” He opened the desk drawer and pulled out his day planner. He still kept a record of his appointments there as well as in his phone. Old habits died hard. He flipped it open and ran his finger down the page.

  “Did you know he was once a member of the notorious MS-13’s?”

  “Of course.” He looked up. “What are you getting at?”

  Billie walked to the window and pulled the blinds open, using the moments to get her thoughts together. “He suggested we might be in danger out here. That members of the gang put a hit out on you because they think you know something.”

  “I believe Kawasaki is innocent, but I don’t know who really murdered his wife. All I need to do is prove reasonable doubt. I have no intention of pulling a Matlock and pointing out the real killer in court.” He blew out a laugh. “I’ll let the police take care of all that.”

  “So, you don’t think maybe our drive-by shooting was more than a coincidence?”

  He pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I hope not. It’s one thing to target me, but they shot at you last night. Why would they do that?”

  “Intimidation?”

  He stared across the room, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.

  “So, how long did the judge give you to recuperate and get your case together before the trial begins?” she asked.

  “Two weeks.”

  She took his hand and pulled him toward the door. “Come on. You can’t think clearly on an empty stomach. I’ll scramble some eggs.”

  •••••

  The outdoor bandstand and vine-covered arbor area were fairly new to Fredrickson’s. So new that the vines weren’t much of a cover yet, but in another year or two would make great shade for those who wanted to get out of the sun. Live entertainment had been one of Margaret’s ideas and so far was attracting busy weekend crowds. They had to tear down a couple of old dilapidated sheds, build the bandstand, plant sod, and add some fun sculptures to the mix, but this investment seemed to be well worth it.

  The weekend had sort of snuck up on Billie since she’d been spending so much time with Handel the last few days. But when cars began rolling in late Saturday morning, he pushed her out the door and told her to go and supervise the winery so he could have a break. He said it with a smile but she knew she was getting on his nerves.

  People were already spreading blankets on the grass and settling down to listen to jazz with a bottle of Fredrickson’s in hand when Billie skirted the parking lot. Seeing a familiar neighbor she’d rather avoid, she made a detour of the front entrance of the winery and snuck through the trees to a side door that opened onto the pressing floor.

  Digging in the pocket of her khaki shorts for the keys, she glanced back and saw the same neighbor following. Obviously, she’d been spotted. She released a sigh and pasted on a bright smile. “Good morning, Hazel. What can I do for you?” she asked, knowing she’d regret the question but feeling compelled to make it.

  Hazel Thompson had lived next door to Fredrickson’s since the 1960s. She and her husband owned eighteen acres of land, planted with Cabernet Sauvignon. These grapes made some of the finest red Bordeaux in the area. Last year they’d decided to retire from winemaking and sell their grapes to the highest bidder. In spite of Billie’s best offer, their crop went to some retired Hollywood director turned entrepreneur. He’d bought a small Napa winery and was pouring millions into turning it into the next Disneyland – only with wine instead of rides. More competition for Fredrickson’s.

  The woman wore bright pink capris and a lacy, cream-colored tank top. Her long hair, dyed to the shade of a raven’s wing, was twisted into a chignon at the back of her head. She was a thin woman, to the point of emaciation, obviously believing the fable, you can never be too rich or too thin. Reading glasses hung from a chain around her neck and swung back and forth against unnaturally perky aged breasts as she hurried along.

  “For starters, you can tell me what is going on around here!” She planted her stiletto heels in the soft ground, long-nailed claws on bony hips. “This was a gun-free zone before you showed up and took over for Jack, but Monday night was the second time I’ve heard gunfire coming from your place. The first time resulted in death. What pray tell was the result this time?”

  Billie tried to keep from smiling, but she had to look away when she noticed the brand new hummingbird tattoo on the old lady’s ankle. She pretended to be interested in a stack of crates beside the door. “I’m sorry if it worried you, Hazel, but thankfully no one was killed,” she said, straightening the stack. She wondered what took the woman so long to come and complain.

  “When I saw police lights flashing across the vineyard I said to Herbie, ‘I wonder if she’s been shot? That husband of hers is the son of that horrible Sean Peterson after all.’ He didn’t try to kill you, did he?” she asked, with just a touch of gleeful hope in her eyes.

  “No, Hazel. You do know my husband just got out of the hospital Monday. He was in a coma for a week. I don’t think he’s quite up to murder yet. Maybe after he’s recuperated a bit.” She turned and put the key in the lock.

  Hazel wasn’t going away. She followed her through the door, heels clicking on the concrete floor. “Who was shooting then? That sort of thing might be perfectly normal out there in the Midwest where they hunt and kill innocent animals, but here in the valley it’s just not done.”

  Billie turned and blocked the way, arms crossed. “They might kill innocent animals in Minnesota, but in California they shoot people.”

  The woman gasped and put a hand to her throat.

  Billie decided to take pity on her. “It might interest you to know that we had a bullet go through our front window. The police think it was vandals, so you might want to keep your outside lights on at night.”

  “My word! What is the valley coming to?” Hazel shook her head.

  “Hell in a hand basket,” Billie muttered and slowly eased the woman ou
t the door, closing it soundly.

  •••••

  Billie hurried through the distillery, and into the barrel room. She glanced down a row of oak barrels and saw Margaret busy taking samples of the Cabernet Franc. She tasted the wine then took notes in her little wine journal.

  She turned around and saw Billie watching. “Hey. Another week or so these barrels should be ready for bottling.”

  “That’s good news. It’s been our best seller recently and we’re running low.”

  Margaret dropped her tools in a bucket to be cleaned and sanitized. “How’s my brother doing? Driving you crazy yet?”

  “Always,” she said with a smile, absently running a hand over the side of an oak barrel.

  Despite his recent weeklong coma and the last few days of home rest she’d tried to enforce, his eyes still had dark circles under them. He refused to admit he was tired. The murder case had him tied up in knots. The trial would begin in a little over a week and he planned to be ready.

  “He was tired of me nagging him to rest,” Billie said, “so he insisted I come over here and check things out while he goes through all his evidence and witness reports again.”

  “Sounds more fun than watching him not rest,” Margaret teased. “He never has been able to sleep more than four or five hours a night when he’s working a case. But I guess you know that by now.”

  “Yep, I learned the hard way.” Billie pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He tries not to wake me up, but the quieter he dresses and moves about the room, the more alert I am to his every movement.”

  Margaret stifled a yawn. “I didn’t get much sleep last night myself.”

  “Oh, why’s that?”

  Margaret looked at her strangely. “Did you forget Adam was playing the club again? I wanted to stay awake for his show and I drank too much caffeine. I didn’t get home until after one and I still couldn’t sleep. He did fantastic, by the way.”