"I still think it's not a coincidence," I said, though I could hear some of the conviction fading from my voice.
Grant let out a long breath, his features softening. "I think we need to get you home. Are you able to stand?"
I nodded, the thudding pain subsiding to a dull roar as Grant slowly helped me up. Once on my feet, the world went a little woozy for a moment, but with Grant's hands to steady me, I managed to avoid falling on my face. Which I took as a good sign.
I took a tentative step forward.
And my knees buckled under me.
"Whoa," Grant said, his arms suddenly going around my middle, pulling me up against him to keep me from slithering to the ground.
It was not an altogether unpleasant position to be in. I could feel his heart beating quickly through his shirt, warmth from his chest suddenly chasing away any lingering chill. His arms were strong and steady, encircling me in their safety. And as I looked up into his face, his eyes were dark, the golden flecks in them dancing down at me like twinkling stars. His lips parted, and I braced myself for their soft touch as his hand moved up to cup my head.
"Your hair is sticky," he said.
I blinked at him. "Wh-what?" I reached a hand to my hair and came away with melted mint chip on my palm.
"Ice cream," I moaned. "I was coming back from the kitchen when I was hit."
"That it?" he asked, eyes cutting to the floor.
I followed his gaze and saw the last of my dessert splayed across the stone floor. So much for my girls' night. Though, I was in no shape to clean it up at the moment. I decided to leave it for tomorrow as Grant helped me shut off the lights in The Cave again and lock the door behind us. Then I let him support me the short walk down the pathway to my cottage door.
I noticed my hands were shaking a bit as I fumbled with the knob, and as soon as I pushed the door open, Ava jumped up from the sofa.
"Finally. I was beginning to think you got distracted in the kitchen and—"
She froze as she spotted me—knot at my temple, doused in melted mint chip, Grant practically holding me up. "Ohmigodwhathappened?" she asked all in a rush, suddenly at my side, helping Grant ease me down onto the sofa.
Those worn cushions had never felt so good.
"I fell," I told her.
"She was attacked," Grant amended, his voice monotone as if making an effort to eradicate any emotion from it.
"What?" Ava gasped. She sat beside me, eyes roaming my body like Grant's had, as if mentally assessing me for damages.
"I'm okay," I assured her. "Mostly."
"She needs to see a doctor," Grant interjected, contradicting me again.
"We should call an ambulance," Ava agreed.
"That's what I told her." Grant gave me a pointed look.
"I'm fine," I protested again. "Just a little bruised."
"And battered," Ava added, frowning at the lump I could feel forming on my head.
"It's fine. I'm feeling better already," I lied, shooting the two of them a big smile with teeth and everything.
Which did nothing to erase the concern on either face staring back at me.
"Come on, guys. You know how much an ambulance will cost?"
"Em, you could have a concussion," Ava protested.
"Look, I'll go see a doctor in the morning," I promised. A cheap one at the walk-in clinic. Where I had a coupon.
Grant turned to Ava. "You're staying the night here?"
She nodded. "We were going to have a girls' night in." Her gaze went to the opened bottle of rosé that I would definitely not be partaking of now.
"Good. Wake her at least a couple times during the night. Watch for confusion or nausea. She can have Tylenol but not aspirin. And call me if anything changes."
Ava nodded. "No aspirin. Wake her up. Call you."
"I'm not concussed," I protested.
Grant turned his gaze on me, his eyes dark and filled with an emotion I couldn't read. "Emmy, you were unconscious when I found you."
Ava sucked in air beside me, her pale eyebrows pulling together again. "Thank God you were there," she told him.
"Yeah, what were you doing here?" I asked, the thought suddenly occurring to me.
Grant's eyes went to me, and he hesitated, as if he didn't want to say. "I came to see you," he finally let out.
I licked my lips. "Me?"
He nodded. Though the way his jaw clenched and his eyes avoided mine, I had the impression this had not been a social call.
"Why?" I asked.
He bit the inside of his cheek and crossed his arms over his chest, the stance instinctively protective.
Or combative.
"Grant, what did you come see me about?" I asked again, becoming less and less sure I wanted to know the answer.
His eyes went to a spot on the wall above me, his nostril flaring as he breathed slowly in and out, as if wishing he were anywhere but here at the moment.
"You can't leave me hanging here," I prompted again.
Finally he barked out two short words. "Jean Luc."
I felt that nausea roll through my stomach again. "What about Jean Luc?" I pressed.
"Nothing," he shot back quickly. Too quickly. "It can wait until morning."
"Oh, no way," I said, getting up from the sofa. Only, as I stood, the room wobbled again, and my body flopped back down all on its own. "You're not getting away that easily," I finished weakly.
He let out a long breath, shaking his head. "Look, I came to give you the heads-up. So you didn't have to learn the hard way tomorrow."
"Learn what?" I asked, dread strong enough that it was a physical sensation in my gut.
His eyes went from Ava to me, mentally stalling.
"What is it?" Ava asked. She reached over and took my hand in hers as protection against whatever it was Grant clearly was not happy about telling us.
He let out another long breath, this time accompanied by a hand running through his hair. "Fine. You're going to find out tomorrow anyway. The DA is getting a judge to issue a warrant for Jean Luc's arrest."
All the air was suddenly sucked from my lungs. "What?" I whispered.
Grant shook his head. "I'm sorry, Emmy." His voice was soft and sympathetic. "I know you're close to him."
"Close?" I shot back. "He's like family!" Some days he and the rest of the staff were pretty much the only family I had left. And I'd be damned if I was going to let Grant take them away from me. "No, you can't arrest Jean Luc."
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "But the evidence is strong enough that the DA wants to move forward with charges."
"What evidence?" Ava demanded, squeezing my hand in solidarity.
Grant shifted his gaze to her, some of his official cop mode covering the softness he'd let escape. "The murder weapon is the same make and model as Jean Luc's gun."
"Which is missing!" I pointed out. "You have no proof it's the same weapon."
Grant ignored me, continuing to address Ava as he listed out his case. "Jean Luc and the victim had a history."
"Ancient history," I argued.
"He was seen arguing with the victim just moments before his death."
"Allegedly," I shot back.
"And we have his fingerprints in Tyler's condo in downtown Sonoma."
That one took the wind out of my sails. "Wait—what?"
Grant ran a hand through his hair again in way that left it so sexily tousled that I almost lost my train of thought.
Almost.
"What do you mean you have his fingerprint in Tyler's condo?" I demanded.
"Just that," Grant told me. "CSI found a wineglass in the sink at Tyler's place. Recently used. Prints on the glass came back as Jean Luc's." He sighed deeply. "Which means Jean Luc lied to the police about not having seen Tyler prior to the festival."
"B-but that can't be," I protested. "Jean Luc would never lie about that. There must be a mistake."
But Grant shook his head, something akin to pity in his eyes as he stood over m
e. "I'm sorry, Emmy. There's no mistake."
I felt hot, angry tears back up behind my eyes, but I would not give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. "Yes there is, because Jean Luc did not kill Tyler."
"Emmy—" Grant started.
But I didn't want to hear any more. "Get out." I blurted the words out without thinking.
I heard Ava shift uncomfortably on the sofa beside me, but I didn't take my eyes off Grant.
His jaw clenched again, and emotion flared behind his eyes. But it was gone too fast to read as his face shut down into Cop Mode again—giving nothing away.
I felt my heart beating rapidly in my chest, anger bubbling close to the surface as those tears threatened. "You heard me," I repeated. "If you're really going to arrest one of my family, you're not welcome here."
"Em," Ava said softly beside me.
But I ignored her. "Go," I told Grant.
He gave me one last long, hard stare before turning on his boots and stalking out the door. It slammed shut with a thud that made me sick to my stomach again, and those tears finally won the battle, falling over my cheeks.
* * *
It was times like this one that made me grateful to have a friend like Ava. While Bridget Jones had taken a back seat the previous night, Ava had made a good dent in the rosé while being my literal shoulder to cry on well into the wee hours of the morning. I'd cried for the mess I'd made of the Food and Wine Festival, for the good friend whose life was about to be thrown into upheaval, and for the man I'd sworn had shown real feelings for me but was now taking away one of the people dearest to me. Not to mention locking up an innocent man for a crime he did not commit.
While I knew Grant was just doing his job, I also knew he must believe Jean Luc was guilty if he was willing to arrest him. Grant's history was not one of someone who blindly followed orders.
While I was still hazy on the details, I knew the reason he'd been transferred to Sonoma County from the SFPD last year had not been that he was looking for a slower pace of life in Wine County than he'd led in the crime-riddled city but that he'd been the subject of an internal affairs investigation. There'd been an incident, and Grant had ended up killing a man. Whether it had been an accident, self-defense, or a moment of weakness on the part of an officer who was seeking immediate justice, I didn't know. Media details were sparse, and Grant's version of events did little to fill in the blanks, glossing over more than felt comfortable to me. All I knew was that when the investigation was over, Grant had been reassigned, ostensibly for a "change of scenery." There were days when I wanted to know what had prompted Grant to take the law into his own hands…and there were other days that I didn't.
Mostly I just wished he'd stop playing Bad Cop and realize that in the current case, he had the wrong man. Despite what the DA thought the evidence said, Jean Luc was innocent.
As the sun woke me the next morning like a freight train slamming into my corneas, that was the first thought that greeted me. An innocent man was going to be arrested. And so far I'd been able to do zero to stop it.
I blinked against the bright onslaught, my body feeling every second of sleep I hadn't gotten the night before. While Ava had popped into my bedroom to wake me every few hours as she'd promised, half the time I hadn't been asleep anyway, too many mixed emotions keeping rest at bay.
I slowly dragged myself out of bed and shoved my jellying limbs into a hot shower. While no amount of makeup was going to cover the bruise on my cheek, I did at least find a way to style my hair off to one side that mostly covered the goose egg at my temple. I added a swipe of cherry red lipstick to try to detract from it and did a smoky eye thing to compensate for the bags hanging under my eyes as a testament to my tossing and turning. I slipped into a pair of cropped jeans and a red cold-shoulder top with ruffled sleeves and was just strapping a pair of high heeled sandals onto my feet when I heard Ava at the bedroom door.
"Knock, knock," she said, pushing it open. "How you doin'?"
"Better," I told her, forcing a smile.
"You would have been more convincing without the grimace."
"Was it that bad?"
She grinned. "Actually, you look pretty good, all things considered." She sat down on the bed beside me, eyes going to my hair. "Good fix." Then her gaze landed on the purple and green bruise, and her smile froze.
"I know it's not pretty," I admitted.
"I've seen worse."
"Now who's the liar?" I said.
She let out a laugh on a puff of air. "Well, it's not for me to decide what sort of shape you're in. You promised Grant you were going to the doctor this morning, remember?"
I groaned. "Fine, but just don't say that name again."
"Grant?" she asked.
"Traitor feels better."
"You know he's only doing his job, Em," she said softly.
"Well his job sucks."
"He cares about you." I felt my heart squeeze as Ava nodded. "He does. I could see it in his eyes last night."
I took a long, slow breath, brushing thoughts of Grant's bedroom eyes aside. "It doesn't matter right now. All that matters today is being there for Jean Luc."
Ava nodded resolutely. "Right." She paused. "But first—coffee."
"You are a wise woman."
* * *
While Ava stopped at the Half Calf downtown for two extra-large lattes, I put in a call to my accountant, Schultz, to get a lawyer lined up for Jean Luc. While I had no idea how we'd pay for it, it was clear he was going to need one.
Once caffeinated, Ava did, as promised, escort me to the walk-in clinic. As we sat in the waiting room, I tried calling Jean Luc, but his phone went straight to voice mail. I couldn't help the bundle of nerves in my stomach at the thought that I might be calling a phone that was now in an evidence locker somewhere. I itched to contact Grant to see if he'd gotten that arrest warrant yet, but instead I docilely submitted to all the tests, poking, and prodding the clinic doctor had before being deemed to have a lump on the head and bruised cheek. I internally winced at how much I'd paid for that brilliant diagnosis as I handed the receptionist my credit card.
Having been medically cleared, I prompted Ava to stop by Jean Luc's apartment next. Unfortunately, it appeared no one was home. The lights were out, the windows covered, and no one answered our knocking on the front door.
"Maybe he's at the winery already?" Ava suggested, ever the optimist.
"Or maybe he's been dragged away in handcuffs already."
Ava shot me a look. "Don't do that to yourself. If Grant had arrested Jean Luc, he'd let you know."
I shook my head. I wasn't sure after the way I'd thrown him out last night. But I tried to follow Ava's bright-side lead and let her drive me back to the winery, where the first thing I did was check the tasting room.
Empty.
If my sommelier had come in early, he hadn't made it behind the bar yet.
Trepidation about what was to come followed me as I wound through the hallways to the kitchen where, thankfully, the scents of French Roast and cinnamon greeted me. I found Conchita at the stove, frying up French toast, and Eddie sitting on a stool at the counter, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand as he adjusted his bow tie with the other. Lime green today, to match the lime-and-fuchsia-checked blazer he was wearing over a pair of pink slacks. I marveled at where on earth one might even buy men's pink slacks as I joined him.
"Good morning, Eddie."
"Good morning, sunshine—oh my word, what happened to you?" Eddie stared at my cheek, his eyes wide in his pudgy red face.
Conchita whipped around at his question, sucking in a breath as she saw me.
" Ay , m í a , your face!" Suddenly she was at my side, attacking me with hugs and a clucking tongue.
"I'm fine. It looks worse than it is," I assured them both.
"Well, thank goodness for small favors, because that looks awful," Eddie pointed out.
"Thanks," I told him sarcastically.
"Please. You own a
mirror, dahling."
"What happened?" Conchita asked, loading a plate with three pieces of French toast and pushing it along the countertop toward me.
Even if I were counting carbs, I couldn't resist such an offer. Which I wasn't. Mostly because I wasn't sure I could count high enough to get them all in. As I dug into the cinnamony, buttery breakfast, I filled them in on my ordeal the night before, both of my audience gasping and oh ing with such drama that they could audition for a telenovela.
"Did you see who did it?" Eddie asked when I'd finished.
I shook my head. "No. It was too dark. I didn't get a chance to see much of anything before…before I fell," I finished lamely.
Conchita did the sign of the cross and clucked some more.
"Have either of you seen Jean Luc yet this morning?" I asked, looking out the kitchen window as if he might appear any moment.
But both Conchita and Eddie shook their heads.
"He hasn't come in yet," Eddie informed me. "Why?"
I bit my lip. The anticipation of the inevitable was steadily gnawing at my insides, and the last thing I wanted to do was share that burden if I didn't have to.
"No reason," I finally lied. "Just, uh, send him my way if you see him, okay?"
Eddie nodded. "Sure thing, boss."
For fear I'd give away more of that anticipatory dread than I intended, I took the rest of my French toast into my office and finished it at my desk as I checked the emails that had come in via our website. While a couple were from potential clients wanting to know our regular tasting hours, most were written by reporters, looking for sordid details to flesh out their stories about Tyler's demise. Bradley Wu sat in my inbox among them, reminding me of my promise of an exclusive and asking exactly what time tomorrow he could come by to interview me. Ugh. Add one more item to my list of future events I was dreading.
I dragged my fork along my plate, scraping up the last bits of cinnamon syrup as guilt set in that I was enjoying a home cooked meal and Jean Luc was about to be in a cell. While I'd been dancing around Tyler's death for the last three days, I didn't feel like I was any closer to knowing who killed him or helping Jean Luc prove his innocence. I thought back over all of the conversations I'd had in the last few days, trying to find the one phrase or tidbit of information that I might have missed—some small kernel of truth I might have overlooked. Only, unfortunately, I came up with bupkis. While everyone who had known Tyler seemed to have at least one great reason to want the star dead, nothing I'd uncovered so far felt like concrete enough proof to say one of them had acted on those reasons.
Victim in the Vineyard Page 15