by Tara Lain
Though it made him catch his breath, Jeremy knew a man of his grandfather’s background couldn’t live without protection.
Nonno looked up, smiled, stood instantly, and crossed to Jeremy, both hands extended. “Nipote, you look so much better. Your rest seems to have restored you, and the harm of those stupid goons was not permanent.” He took Jeremy’s hands and kissed him on both cheeks. “Come, sit. We’ll have wine and then dinner.”
By the time Nonno backed away and they walked toward the sitting area, both of the men were gone. Poof. Vanished. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drive your visitors away.”
“No. No. Who needs business when I have you?”
Nonno poured a glass of red at the bar cart, brought it to Jeremy, and sat opposite, back in his recliner. “Enjoy. It will further restore you.”
Jeremy sipped the wine and smiled. “You do have a way with wine, Nonno. Truly among the finest I’ve ever tasted.”
“Thank you. The highest praise.”
“I wish you could have tasted some of my wines to see what I learned from you. I hope I would have made you proud.”
“Ah yes. The seed does not fall far, as they say.”
“I hope not. You’d love my friend’s wine too. He uses dry farming techniques, and they give the wines a unique flavor.”
Nonno frowned for a second, then said, “Yes. I’m familiar with dry farming. I can imagine it would be useful in California.” He sipped. “But you’re here now.” He leaned forward and waved a hand toward Jeremy’s hair. “I see you haven’t cut it. Your mother would have been so pleased.”
“Yeah. I know it’s kind of dumb, but it’s the one thing I know she liked. The only thing that connects me with her.”
“Except her money, of course.” Nonno laughed.
The big man Jeremy had seen in the kitchen looked in from the dining room. “Dinner’s ready, Mr. Andretti.”
“Thank you, Carlo.” He flopped his feet to the floor. “Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
“Me too.”
“Good sign. Good sign.”
They sat catty-corner to each other at the big table and proceeded to dig into an Italian’s idea of dinner—soup, antipasti, pasta, fish, turkey in deference to Nonno’s aging arteries, and finally spumoni for dessert. All through the meal, different wines accompanied the courses, and different discussions about wine accompanied the vintages. Finally they sat back with digestivos and tried to digest.
Jeremy laughed and patted his stomach. “I haven’t been this indulged in a long time.”
“Not indulgence. Mere subsistence.” But he laughed to show his own conceit. “So, do you want to move your money to a safer place so Angelo doesn’t find it?”
Hmm. Whiplash subject change. “Angelo can’t find it because there’s nothing left to find. I invested all the money in my winery.” He turned the small glass in his fingers. “The man, Ottersen, who was killed effectively put me out of business, so most of that investment’s gone.” He frowned.
“How odd. Your father’s under the impression that you were left over ten mil US. Surely that little enterprise didn’t take that kind of investment.”
“No, of course not. My mother left me ten million, but I only got three. Angelo must have used up the rest. He’s being disingenuous. Probably he just wants an excuse to kill me.”
“Is this the truth? My men who found you said you had a shovel.”
Jeremy looked up at the frown on Nonno’s face. “Of course it’s the truth, sir. I keep my travel documents buried as you taught me. I was on my way to get them when I got slammed.” He rubbed a hand over his head. “Did you believe Angelo?” He took a mouthful of the limoncello. “Do you think I’d have let that asshole, Ottersen, mow me under if I’d had the resources to stop him?”
“Why didn’t you ask me for help?”
“If I’m not good enough to run my own business, I can’t ask for handouts.” He looked up. “You taught me that.”
“But it sounds like these were extraordinary circumstances.”
Jeremy just shrugged.
“Will you excuse me a moment, nipote? I need to make a call. Enjoy your drink and coffee. Help yourself to more. I’ll only be a moment.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
WHEN HIS grandfather left, Jeremy crossed to the sideboard and poured more dark Italian roast into his cup, then laced it with cream. As a child he’d been allowed a little coffee in his milk. He never got over loving the taste.
Sipping the coffee, he wandered to the old-fashioned bar tucked into a nook between the dining and living rooms and surveyed the rows of wines, most Andretti labels, but a few others. Nonno favored red, but some whites and sparkling wines had made it into the selection, as had been evidenced during the meal.
Jeremy glanced down on the lower shelves under the bar and spied a couple of California vintages. He smiled. Breaking his own rules, Nonno seemed to have shied from devotion to only New York and Italian labels.
He knelt down and cocked his head. Wow. One of Bo’s wines. That made his heart squeeze. He wanted to pour the wine into a glass and sip it slowly for hours so he could feel like Bo wasn’t so very far away. He glanced back into the corner of the cabinet and—What the fuck? Two bottles of his wine. Hill Top.
He stood quickly. Something about the way the bottles were hidden suggested Nonno didn’t want him or anyone else to see them. Walking quickly back to the table, he took a couple of deep breaths, then sat and picked up his drink. So Nonno knew about Hill Top. How long ago did his grandfather find him? Had he been toying with Jeremy for months, pretending not to know where he was?
He took another sip. Calm down. That’d be like him. To give me the impression that I’m on my own so I could be independent. Plus maybe he thought I’d run again if I knew he’d found me. Or maybe he doesn’t know Hill Top is my winery? Possible, but unlikely.
Nonno walked back in, smiling. “Sorry, son. As you know, winery business never sleeps.”
“I do know.”
His grandfather sat and leaned back in his chair. “So what if you were to become my winery manager?”
“What? Sir, Angelo would get wind of that in a second.”
He waved a hand. “Hear me out. We’d use your adopted name, Jeremy Aames. If Angelo knew that, he’d have been on your doorstep before now. Obviously you’d remain here on the property. No socializing in the community, though that’s a loss. But it would help me, keep you busy, and hide you in plain sight, so to speak.”
The desire to ask how long his grandfather had known about his winery burned his lips, but he just smiled. “It might work, Nonno. Let me think about it, okay?”
His grandfather slapped a hand against his own forehead. “Yes, yes, of course. Here you are, ripped from your life, assaulted by nincompoops, and I’m pressing you for decisions.”
“Not at all. I’m flattered by the offer.” He pressed his hand over a yawn. “But I must confess to being tired. I’m not used to so much food and wine. I’ll clearly get fat if I stay.” He laughed. “By the way, Nonno. Do you have my phone?”
“No. Is it missing?”
“Yes, since I was struck in California. Your men must have taken it.”
“I’ll speak to them.”
“Thank you, sir.” He stood. “It’s been a delightful evening.”
“For me too.” He embraced Jeremy and gave him the two-cheek kisses. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Jeremy went straight back to his room, changed into pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, then plopped in the chair beside the fireplace that someone had lit in his absence.
I need my phone.
What exactly am I planning to do if I find it?
No clue, but at least I’ll know Bo could call me and I could call him. Shit, I’ll bet he’s called me a bunch of times. I’ll bet he’s so worried and so pissed. I miss him so much.
The prospect of a life without Bo washed over him again like toxic rainwater. He curled his kne
es to his belly, rested his head on them, and tried to cry quietly until he fell asleep.
When his eyes opened, he was in bed and sun shone offensively in the windows. He frowned. How the hell did I get from the chair to here? Chances were good Nonno had come to check on him and had one of his behemoths carry Jeremy to bed. That creeped him out.
He dragged himself out of bed and stared in the dresser mirror at his red, puffy eyes. Damn, I’m a wuss. Can a guy blame his emotional outbursts on hormones? And if I want to say it’s a broken heart, I can’t claim anyone broke it but me. Bo was ready to come out for me. Nobody’s ever wanted to change their life for me.
Shit!
He rushed to the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and held a handful against his face. No more damned blubbering. Suck it up. I’ve got serious thinking to do.
He took a breath and rubbed the light stubble on his chin. He should let his beard grow. If his hair got any longer, he’d need something to establish he was a guy.
Fifteen minutes later, clean, dressed, with his spine stiffened and carrying his windbreaker, Jeremy walked into the breakfast room, one of his favorite spaces in his grandfather’s house. Designed to catch the morning light, the room, with its good smells and easy camaraderie, had always made him feel ready for the day.
Nonno sat in his place at the head of the table. At least Jeremy assumed it was Nonno. Somebody was behind that newspaper. A hand slid out from the newsprint and deposited a box at Jeremy’s place. The paper popped down a few inches. Nonno said, “The men say they threw away your phone. Here’s a new one. It has limited access, however, to keep Angelo from finding it.” The paper moved back up.
“How would Angelo find it, Nonno?”
His voice came from behind the paper. “I have no idea. I don’t understand this technology shit. But my IT guy says it’s so, and I don’t want to take the chance.”
Jeremy glanced at the phone, then got some breakfast. As he ate his scrambled eggs, he pulled out the device that looked like a regular iPhone. He turned it on and found it was already charged. His fingers just started moving, dialing, trying to get to Bo. I’ll tell him that I’m okay. I need to tell him.
Beep, beep, beep.
He frowned. “How can I dial out?”
His grandfather waved a hand. “The usual way I suppose.”
He dialed his office.
Beep, beep, beep.
“Who can I call?”
“What?”
“Nonno, who can I call?”
The paper dropped. “I don’t know. He said he’d make it safe.”
“Does that mean I can only call you and 911?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Can I use it for social media?”
“I’m telling you, I don’t know.” His white eyebrows met over his bright blue eyes, so like Jeremy’s.
“I appreciate the gesture, Grandfather, but there’s no point in having a phone if it doesn’t communicate with anyone.”
“It can call me if Angelo finds you. Clear?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for thinking of it.” As Nonno went back to reading, Jeremy ate the rest of his eggs, his mind ten steps ahead. “Please excuse me. I’m anxious to go see the winery operations.”
“I’ll show you around.”
“No need. I remember.” He bounded up before his grandfather could stop him and stepped out through the french doors in the breakfast room. Outside, he broke into a jog and headed for the closest of the vineyard’s production buildings. It took a few minutes at a good clip, but he got there before anyone could interfere.
Inside the big cavern of a building, people busily moved around between giant oaken barrels and tanks. Beyond were the rooms of vessels and the blending labs. Jeremy inhaled deeply. That sweet, pungent smell was in his blood from birth, and he loved it.
“Hi. Can I help you?” A young dark-haired guy stood there looking pleasant and very curious.
“Oh, hello. I’m Jeremy Aames. I’m going to be working with Mr. Andretti here in the vineyards. I’m just taking a quick look around, and then I’ll be back for an in-depth tour.”
“You’re a winemaker, Mr. Aames?” The pleasant look turned a little skeptical, probably because Jeremy was about the age of the guy standing in front of him.
“Yes. I’ve been setting up wine blending operations in California.”
His eyes brightened. “Will you be doing that for us?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“That’s great.” The pleasant smile turned enthusiastic.
“If you’ll excuse me, I want to do a jog around the fields. Can you tell me the ones I should see?”
“Three, four, and ten are nearby and will give you an overview.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you again, probably tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’d like to talk with you about some ideas I have—”
Jeremy held up a finger. “Forgive me. Please hold that thought. I have so little time right now, I don’t want to rush you.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Jeremy ran out the door and headed toward field ten, the closest to the road. When he got to the field, he cut through the rows, slapping hands with some of the workers, then slipped out of view and emerged on the road. It was less than a mile to the nearest town, although a hamlet of 800 people didn’t exactly promise lots of technology experts. Still, worth a try.
A few minutes later, he trotted into the chic and popular little town and gazed around. Even small-town people had phones. He grinned tightly. Ahead of him was a small two-story retail building, and on the second floor, like manna from heaven, a sign announced Cellular World. Thank you!
He ran up the stairs—his thighs would regret this whole effort later—and pushed into what proved to be a small, very messy shop. A head popped around the edge of a workstation. “Yeah?” The guy looked like he might have escaped from one of the episodes of Jurassic Park.
“I need some help with a phone.” Jeremy smiled and went for helpless.
“Come back tomorrow.”
Shit! “Sorry. Can’t. Can you recommend someone else I can see?”
The guy sighed. “Okay, show me.”
Jeremy rushed forward, taking the phone from his pocket. “So this may not be okay with you, but my boss gave me this phone, and then somebody must have done something to it that makes it impossible to call anyone but a couple of approved people. It’s wacked, man. How the hell am I supposed to carry two damned phones around all the time so I can call my girlfriend or my mom?”
“Fuck, man. I hate that. Damned authoritarian assholes trying to use technology to control us.”
Jeremy nodded. He’d judged his man correctly. “Fuckin’ A, man.”
“Gimme.”
Jeremy handed him the phone.
“Go get some coffee and let me look at this thing.”
“You take credit, right?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. I really appreciate this.”
“Yeah, well, power.”
They bumped fists, and Jeremy walked out into the sunlight. A drugstore across the street caught his eye. He jogged over and found just what he wanted, a crowded little space with a single person behind the counter. Jeremy wound through the aisles until he found a pack of razor blades, pocketed them, and then discovered a restroom at the back of the store. He slipped in, occupied the only stall, pulled out a blade, and applied it to the thick elastic of his jacket. He made a small cut, ripped the hole farther, then pulled out the credit card. Just holding it in his hand made him breathe deeper.
He exited the john, paid for the blades with the card, although the cashier gave him a look over the package being open, and in a second he was back outside. He stepped into the street, looked up, stumbled, and nearly fell on his face. Damn. He glanced at the passing car, all tinted windows and black sleekness. Was that Angelo? No. Why would he be in Hammondsport? He hates small towns.
Still breathing hard from the shock,
he mounted the stairs to Cellular World and went in, glancing back. No one.
“Hey, man, you’re gonna be stoked. I got this.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah, whoever did this ain’t all that, man. Might think so, but he couldn’t stump the bump, man.”
“Bump?”
“Red Bumpchin. Me.” He stuck out his hand and shook Jeremy’s.
“Can I call anywhere?”
“I didn’t optimize for international, but you can do that on your laptop, right?”
Wrong, but he didn’t want to say that. “You’re the wizard, man.”
“The Keymaster.”
“How much do I owe you?”
The Bump held up his hands. “Hey, man, it’s my pleasure to stick it to the man. Just use it in good health.”
“No, that’s too much. What can I do for you?”
“Bring me back a vanilla caramel latte with coconut milk.”
“You got it.” He walked to the door. “Be right back.” He walked out and saw the coffee shop sign two blocks down. The now presumably working phone burned a hole in his pocket and his heart, but he had to get the coffee. Clearly everyone in town had the same idea, and the line at the coffee shop stretched to the door. He wanted to tell Red that he didn’t have time, but the guy had done him a huge favor.
By the time he got his drink, it was fifteen minutes later. He ran it in to Red, thanked him again, and took off like a shot back toward the winery. He didn’t dare stop and call Bo. The gnawing demand in his gut to let Bo know he was safe fought with the reality of his situation. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say to Bo. Jeremy couldn’t go back to California. Not if Nonno was right about Angelo closing in. Should he ask Bo to run away with him? Be a fugitive? Hell, that wasn’t even a little fair, and it would place Bo in huge danger. Plus Bo would never leave his family, so back to square one. What did he want to say?