The Case of the Voracious Vintner

by Tara Lain

  Chugging like a train, he threaded his way into field ten and then rushed through the rows until he reached the edge of field three. There he slowed and started looking at the vines and the fruit. All told, from the time he talked to the guy in production, he’d been gone over an hour. Have they noticed?

  It took another ten minutes, but feet came stomping up behind him. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

  Jeremy turned to Nonno, who walked up to him with the guy from production and the big man from the kitchen.

  Jeremy smiled graciously. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Andretti. I explained to this gentleman—” He pointed at the young guy. “—that I wanted to take a look at the vineyards. I must confess, I got engrossed and lost track of the time. I’m ready for that tour now.”

  Nonno seemed to realize they needed to play the game of employer and employee in public. He slapped Jeremy on the shoulder. “Of course, Jeremy. I look forward to your observations on the growing procedures.” He glanced at the young guy. “Paolo, did I explain that Jeremy was in charge of running a very unique California winery? I think he can bring some new ideas to us.”

  “Yes, I’m very excited to be working with him.” Paolo gave Jeremy a glance that might not have been entirely professional.

  They toured the production facilities, which Jeremy remembered from when he was a kid and had to be careful not to say so. He got a kick out of his grandfather’s obvious pride in the winery and its product, and he creeped out over Mr. Made Man who walked behind them with his hands in his pockets. Man, I’m out of practice. I forget what it’s like.

  Jeremy looked around with affection. He’d love to get his hands on this place—but not as much as he wanted to know what was happening at Hill Top. Not a fraction as badly as he wanted to see Bo.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “NONNO, I’M out of practice. Have mercy.” Jeremy leaned back in his chair and clutched his overfull stomach. After another six-course dinner, he felt half-satisfied and half-uncomfortable. Actually, that described a lot of things.

  Nonno laughed. “You need practice.”

  “I need a day at the gym.”

  “Ah yes, you used to be quite the fitness enthusiast.”

  Jeremy nodded, not mentioning that he’d done it in self-defense against the constant implied threat of Nonno’s hulking bodyguards and his father’s fists. “Is there still a gym in town?” He asked that super casually.

  “Oh, we built one here on the property. All the latest equipment. I’ll show you tomorrow.” Nonno stood. “I have a business meeting this evening. Please feel free to use the theater room if you’d like.”

  Jeremy rose. “Thank you, but the flat-screen in my room is plenty. Plus I’m a little tired. I’ll turn in early.”

  “Then I’ll wish you good night.” Nonno kissed his cheeks and left the dining room.

  Jeremy ambled out of the dining room and down the hall toward his room. He’d told the truth. He was tired. Getting hit on the head, drugged, hauled to New York, and then performing his 1500-meter race that day to town and back had taken a toll. But also he had the feeling that if his footsteps strayed far from their appointed path, there’d be someone to object. As with every moment in the house, his spine tingled as if he was being watched. Chances of it being true? About 99.9 percent. Maybe not because Nonno didn’t trust him specifically, but because Nonno didn’t trust anyone.

  He wandered into his room, flopped on the bed, and clicked on the TV. News, sports, and Bones reruns. None of those exactly attracted him. He flipped on his back, glanced at the door, and pulled his phone from his pocket. No way to make a call. They’d hear him. But a text?

  He input Bo’s number from memory and texted I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. His fingers kept typing. Miss you like crazy. With a deep breath, he hit Send, then immediately erased the text from his phone history. Somebody with some IT skills could track it, but not a casual observer. He stared at the screen like a cat at a mouse hole, praying for a reply. Shit, what can he say? He doesn’t know where I am and if I lo—uh, care about him, I can’t tell him. Also, he might not want to hear from me. His life has to be 100 percent easier without me in it. Still, he couldn’t help hoping.

  Ten minutes of trying not to but still staring at the phone produced no reply. A piece of him refused to let go. It’s three hours earlier. He’s at work. Busy. His phone might be in the office.

  Damn, he needed something to distract him. A movie. He swung off the bed, slipped his shoes back on, and walked out the door—then realized he had no idea where the movie room was. It had to be something Nonno had added since the last time Jeremy was here.

  The most likely location was near the pool since he’d had extra space around there. Peeking into rooms trying to find a big-screen TV or someone to ask with no luck, he walked to the pool area. There was a new room, but it proved to be a gym—well equipped. He’d use that the next day.

  Okay, where’s the theater? Wending his way back toward the central living spaces, he stuck his head in the kitchen. Weirdly, no one was in there.

  Maybe Nonno’s meeting is over? Jeremy headed toward his grandfather’s office. He might even want to watch a film with me.

  As he approached the big double doors, no bodyguards stood watch. Good sign. Probably the meeting was over. From a couple of feet, he could hear a bit of noise through the thick mahogany doors, but maybe just Nonno watching news.

  He grasped the old-fashioned door handle and turned. No resistance, the door pushed open, and—

  —Jeremy could hear his own gasp above the sound of Nonno’s voice raised in argument with another speaker. Every cell in Jeremy’s body turned to ice as all the eyes in the room turned to stare at him. That was a lot of eyes. Jeremy felt frozen in place, staring at Nonno seated in an obvious position of power on one of his grand high-backed chairs, to the man sitting in front of him, perched on a stool—Jeremy’s father, Angelo. Angelo Andretti, the presumed most powerful don left in the NYC mafia.

  Tingles started in Jeremy’s spine as the two men peered at him as if he’d crawled from under a rock. Angelo looked over his shoulder. “Are you telling me you left no one on the door, you idiot?”

  Nonno rose with a smile. “Nipote, I told you I had a meeting. Can I help you?”

  “I was looking for the theater. No one was around.” The reason was obvious. Every person Jeremy had seen in the house was currently in that room, including old Donna Ana, who somehow looked less friendly and mild sitting in a chair with her legs crossed, smoking a cigarette.

  “Not a problem, my dear. Carlo will take you.”

  Carlo stepped away from the wall, and Jeremy stepped back. “But Angelo—” Someone against the wall moved. Jeremy looked, sucked in his breath, and turned to run. He got two steps before a giant hand clamped on his shoulder. He threw a punch, but two more huge paws got added to the mix, and he was dragged off his feet. These guys weren’t hired killers because they were good negotiators. Jeremy struggled, but they clamped his hands painfully behind his back and turned him toward the room.

  The words spat from Jeremy’s mouth. “Why was I such a goddamned, unbelievable, stupid, gullible fool?”

  The man standing by the wall trying to look inconspicuous was Sean, the dude from the bar who’d drugged him.

  Nonno smiled and shook his head. “What we learn in boyhood becomes our truth, dear one. Why would you ever doubt it?”

  Everything in Jeremy rebelled. No, he’d never believed his grandfather was a sweet old man or that he trusted him, but he’d honestly thought— “I believed you cared about me, at least a little.”

  “But of course I do, my darling.” He walked forward. “That’s why I worked so hard to restore you to the family. I was pleased that while you escaped from us, you never provided evidence against us. That was testament to your honor and your family feeling. You’re intelligent, nipote, and have skills we need.”

  Jeremy stared around the room. F
ive made men including the two holding him, Donna Ana, Sean, probably also a made man though obviously serving a different purpose, and his father, Angelo, were assembled. Jeremy looked back at Sean.

  “If Sean’s here, that means you know I’m gay, and I don’t see you taking a gay man to the bosom of the family, Grandfather. Not with your opinions.”

  Nonno frowned. “Yes, that was a great disappointment. I nearly told them to kill you. But then I remembered the perverse influence of those people in California and knew we only had to return you to a family of real men for you to realize your true nature again.”

  Jeremy narrowed his eyes. “Just to clarify, you would have told them to kill me? Not Angelo?”

  Nonno gave an icy smile. “Well, of course, he would have made the call on my say-so.”

  “So you’ve always been the head of the family?” The ice from that smile traveled up Jeremy’s spine to his heart.

  “Yes. Power and leadership aren’t necessarily hereditary.” Nonno’s eyes slowly glanced at Angelo with unalloyed disdain. “But I believe you’ve inherited much of the best of my line.” He beamed.

  Well, shit.

  “So basically you have a choice to rejoin your family, learn the business, and perhaps take over upon my death. You’ll get to do it here, in this charming atmosphere, surrounded by things you know and love.”

  “Or die.”

  Nonno’s strong white teeth gleamed at him. “Is there ever any other choice?” His white eyebrows rose. “Oh yes, and return to me the ten million dollars that is rightfully mine. That idiot mother of yours knew that the only way I agreed to let her leave Angelo was to sign over her inheritance at her death to me.”

  Angelo’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “She changed it on her deathbed, apparently. I can’t believe I let her live.”

  “You agreed to her leaving me?” Angelo stared at his father in obvious shock. “I always wondered why you didn’t bring her back to me.”

  “Yes.” Nonno sighed. “I’m a sentimental fool. I only acquired her for you because I had a, shall we say, yen for her? She was so beautiful.” He glanced at Jeremy. “Jeremy looks so like her. I’m glad he never cut his hair.” The brows lowered. “I suppose now I’ll have to insist he cut it since it obviously makes him look like a fag, but it’s sad.” He shrugged. “Anyway, even after I was done with her, I couldn’t quite bear to kill her, so I let her live. But the money’s mine.”

  Jeremy took a breath. Choice. He could fake it until he could escape. Pretend to go along with the plan. Pretend to give back the money. But first he’d have to demonstrate his ruthlessness, maybe even kill people to show loyalty. If he managed to escape, he’d spend his life running, and this time without the illusion of any support. And no matter what, he’d live without Bo. Yes, he was twenty-four and had a lot of life to live, but what for? He sighed out the words. “That’s all well and good, Nonno. Two problems with your plan.”

  “Oh? What?” The words dripped off his lips.

  “First, I don’t have any of Mother’s money. Maybe Angelo got it or someone else, but when I took it, there was three million. Period. I used it up. It’s gone.”

  Nonno scowled at that and opened his mouth to speak, but Jeremy said, “And second, no matter what you do, I’ll still be gay.”

  That’s when Nonno’s eyes turned colder than Jeremy would have thought possible. “The first’s impossible, the second is nonsense.”

  Jeremy only shrugged.

  “Then you require persuasion to learn the whereabouts of the money?” He might as well have asked if Jeremy would like ketchup with that, he said it so matter-of-factly, but the tone disguised a reality of more pain than Jeremy could even imagine. He knew that. Damned tough way to die.

  He shrugged again.

  Nonno sighed. “I truly thought there was some hope for you, but I suppose as the son of my idiot son, you couldn’t have been much better. Don’t worry. We’ll learn the location of the money—before you learn the meaning of the hell devoted to perverts.”

  Man, that did not sound fun—his brain’s snarky way of covering a black pit of fear. Just keep remembering, just keep remembering—

  A sound came from the front of the house.

  Nonno looked up. “Was that a knock?” He looked incredulously around the room as if asking Who knocks on the door of a mafia don without permission? Girl Scouts? He pointed at Jeremy, who still stood hanging between Carlo and another thug, “Tie him.” Then he looked at the sometime cook. “Donna. Go see.”

  She rose and left the room, looking for all the world like a sweet little old Hispanic cook. I’ll bet there’s a gun under that black dress.

  One of the bodyguards tied Jeremy tightly to a chair with his handy-dandy plastic pull ties but didn’t plug his mouth—yet.

  Donna stuck her head back in. “Some man says he’s a winemaker. He’s a visitor and was referred to you by some other winemaker. I told him you’re busy, but he asked for just a couple minutes since he’s only in town today.”

  Nonno scowled. “How did he learn where I live? I don’t give many friends my address.”

  The door pushed open abruptly, slamming into Donna’s back. She fell forward.

  Jeremy’s mouth opened as he stifled his scream in his throat. His heart and brain exploded with one word. Bo!

  “Mr. Andretti, you’d be amazed at how many people know your address.” Bo pushed a phone to his mouth. “Now!”

  “Bo, run!” Jeremy shrieked a second before the gun butt slammed into his skull. His head fell forward, but he didn’t lose consciousness. Knocking someone out was way harder than most people thought. Still hurt like hell, but let them believe—

  It was hard hanging his head with the chaos around him. Guns fired, glass broke, and people screamed. Then he heard what might be his favorite words of all time next to I love you from Bo—

  “FBI. Drop your weapons and put your hands on your heads.”

  Holy fuck. Did that mean Bo brought the feds? Still, he kept his head down since he was tied and it would only take one shot to end him. If they knew he was awake, they’d shoot him in a minute, but unconscious he was a lower priority.

  A bullet whizzed past his head. He bit his tongue not to move. Where’s Bo? Is he okay? Shit, he had to stay alive to find him, help him, save him.

  A body bumped him, landed hard on his foot, and didn’t move. At all. Fuck, who is it?

  If it’s Bo, I don’t want to live.

  That thought almost made him gasp—bad idea but important thought. Very slowly his eyes opened.

  Angelo. Totally dead. Jeremy had always had to force himself not to pray for this moment. Knowing that the misery of his life had been directed by his grandfather, not Angelo, decreased any sense of satisfaction. For a fraction of a second, some weird wish that maybe he could have known either of his parents before they were ruined by his grandfather crept into his brain. Poof. It had still been Angelo’s fists applied to his young son’s head, no matter who’d instructed it. Good riddance.

  Suddenly somebody fumbled behind his chair, and Jeremy assumed total unconsciousness.

  “Shit, these things are tough.”

  Is that voice familiar? Jeremy didn’t move.

  The hands moved away from his wrists, and lots of fumbling and swearing followed. Then they were back, cutting the plastic zip ties. “Damn, Jeremy, I can’t carry you.”

  Holy shit! That’s O’Hara. Jeremy’s eyes snapped open, and he fumbled off the ties and peeked at his surroundings. Several prostrate bodies, at least one of them being an Andretti bodyguard, lay around the floor, but no one was moving.

  Jeremy jumped up, turned, and threw his arms around O’Hara’s neck. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  O’Hara grinned. “You don’t think I’d give up my case to the feds, do you? We don’t get stuff this big often. I mean, hell, man? Organized crime?”

  “Where’s Bo?”

  “No idea.”

&
nbsp; No, no, no! Jeremy took off like a bat for the door, beyond which he heard shooting, noise, and chaos.

  “Jeremy, stop! For God’s sake, you’ll get yourself killed!”

  No way. Bo’s out there. He slammed the door open but had the good sense not to plunge into the hall, where bullets still flew. He peered around the corner of the door, then ducked back. Nonno, Donna, and one other guy hid along the hall’s perimeter, facing away from Jeremy. Damn, wish I had a gun. O’Hara!

  He turned into the office. O’Hara stood behind him. “Give me a gun.”

  O’Hara’s dark brows dove over his nose. “No way, man.”

  Jeremy looked at the bodies, hurried to the closest one, and grabbed the 9mm Smith & Wesson lying beside what had once been a dangerous guy. Probably in it for the money like most of the remaining mafia, but the Andrettis were old-school.

  Checking the chamber, he rushed back to the door and pushed at O’Hara.

  O’Hara blocked the door, holding his police issue loosely. “I can’t let you do this. The FBI needs your testimony against your grandfather. They’ve been after him for decades, and I need you in California. You can’t get yourself killed.”

  Jeremy stared at O’Hara and hissed, “I guarantee I’m better with a gun than you. I’m also faster, more experienced with my hands, and promise you, there will be no testimony of any kind if Bo’s dead and I could have saved him. I got him into this mess. I have to get him out.”

  “Damn it, Jeremy. It’s my job to keep you safe. Bo too.”

  “That’s the deal.” He stepped forward. “Move before I hurt you.”

  O’Hara seemed to inhale the message in Jeremy’s eyes, because he stepped aside. Jeremy dodged out the door and back in quickly. His carefully trained powers of observation might be rusty, but he was pretty sure Nonno and company had moved farther down the hall and sadly, all were still alive.

  Whoa, that thought stopped him for a second. Do I really wish Nonno were dead? Yes, because then I wouldn’t have to kill him.

  Moving quickly and quietly, he slipped into the hall and pressed against the wall, but the small outcroppings didn’t provide much cover. There appeared to be several FBI people at the end of the hall. More might be trying to find entry at the opposite side of the building, but Jeremy knew how hard that was. As a kid he’d always wondered why this part of the house was built like a fortress. But he and O’Hara were behind, so they could do the job.