Vines (The Killers Book 1)

by Brynne Asher

  I grab my other phone and jog down the stairs, watching the security feed on the screen. “I don’t see them yet.”

  “Holy shit,” he exhales, relieved. “He passed your entrance. He’s not comin’ for you. What are the fucking odds? He’s turning into the next drive.”

  I’d barely relaxed a second. “The winery? What would he be doing there?”

  “How should I know? It doesn’t surprise me he’d be a wine drinker after watchin’ him for a year. He’s got a stick up his ass, an arrogant dickhead on top of everything else.” Carson still sounds relieved.

  Not feeling any relief at the moment, I demand, “Why’s he a target?”

  “You know I can’t tell you. You’re not a contractor anymore. I’ve given you too much as it is, but fuck, that was intense. I know Asa and Grady are gone.”

  “Carson, I’m goin’ over there. Give me a background.”

  “You’re not goin’ over there. This guy’s into some deep shit. You don’t want him seeing your face.” He’s agitated again, ordering me to stand down, which he can’t fucking do.

  “You got a target anywhere near my camp, you better believe I’m checking it out. I’m going whether you give me a background or not.” I run a hand through my wet hair to straighten it before I leave.

  “You stay put, Vega. That’s an order.”

  “Fuck your order. I’m retired.”

  I hear him huff into the phone and after a few moments he begrudgingly relents. “Fine. I’ll send his mug to this line. I better not eat shit over this.”

  For the next ninety seconds, he gives me an overview of the Army Lieutenant Colonel who’s visiting my neighbor’s winery. When he’s done, he asks, “What’re you gonna do?”

  I look out the back of my house toward Addison Wentworth’s property and think for two seconds before making an easy decision. “I’m gonna find out why he’s there. Hopefully it’s to taste the wine and be on his way, nothing more than a coincidence.”

  Not giving him a chance to respond, I end the call that’s lasted too long, even on a prepaid line. Going to my kitchen, I pull out a trash bag and after taking a quick look at the surveillance photo of the target, toss the phone in. I bang through four drawers until finding what I need. Laying the trash bag on the counter with nothing but the phone inside, I take the hammer and decimate it with one hit. After tagging my keys, I toss the bag in the trash and stalk out my backdoor.

  I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I’m going to a wine tasting.

  *****

  This place must always be busy. I had to park on the lane and double-time it up the hill. I’m pretty sure O’Rourke only beat me by five, maybe ten minutes, tops.

  Opening the heavy door, I move inside. Quickly scanning the room, I instantly clock Addison. She’s sitting at a far table on the perimeter, and hell if she isn’t with two men. I look the other way before letting my eyes wander, as if I’m trying to decide where to settle. I glance back as someone places a bottle on their table with two wine glasses and a water. When the guy in a sports jacket looks up, I confirm he’s the target. Different from his surveillance picture, he’s smiling instead of scowling. Still, there’s no doubt, it’s him.

  He thanks the server before returning his attention to Addison, like he’s studying every feature of her face. It’s only because I’m a practiced hand that I don’t let my emotion show.

  But that fucking pisses me off.

  I choose a spot at the bar with his back to me. When I get there, a younger guy moves away from two couples to greet me. “Welcome to Whitetail.”

  I nod at the kid working at a bar.

  He can’t be much past twenty. His shaggy, sandy blond hair is a mess and he’s dressed like a rich frat boy on his way to a Polo match. Since I can read people well, I know he’s not full of shit when he asks, “How’s your Sunday?”

  I have a constant reminder of how my Sunday is going with the forty-cal pressed into my back. “Good, thanks.”

  He lifts his chin and reaches under the counter producing a dark brown leather portfolio, laying it in front of me. “What can I get you?”

  I scan through the list of wines, five on each page with detailed descriptions under each. I have no idea what any of them are. Looking up, I see O’Rourke in the distance, deep in conversation with Addison.

  “Surprise me,” I say to the kid.

  “You like reds or whites?”

  My focus is on Addison, watching her speak, controlling the conversation. She’s doing this with small gestures, nothing exaggerated or overdone. But the way she uses her body when she talks, any man would gladly sit for hours listening to her just for the privilege of watching her move.

  “No preference,” I answer.

  “I knew he’d come back for a glass.” I turn to see Bev walking up to the bar. Before I know it, she’s settled herself on a stool next to where I’m standing. She explains to the kid, “This is our new neighbor, Evan. He gets the neighborly discount. His name is Crew.” She looks to me. “I do like your name. Addy told me when she got back from getting Harry settled yesterday. It’s one of a kind and quite masculine. I’ve decided it fits you.”

  I smirk at Bev the same time Addison pulls out a folder printed with her logo. She takes a sip of water as O’Rourke and his buddy pour themselves another glass of wine. Picking up her pen, she starts pointing at the papers when her other hand comes up. Then, as if my brain switched to slow motion, I watch her lightly swipe a piece of her thick dark hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. She looks across the table, her dark brown eyes lit with happiness as every feature on her fair-skinned face comes to life with a smile.

  Fuck.

  Damn if I don’t feel that in my dick at the same time my chest seizes. When the muscles ripple up my back, I have to clench my jaw to overcome it. This strange sensation is foreign, something I’ve never experienced. I can appreciate a hot woman, but my entire body seizing? I’m fighting the urge to charge across the room to get her away from him, when I don’t even know why he’s here.

  I pull my eyes away from her when the other man, probably around my age, leans back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. Hell if his eyes aren’t glued to her and not the papers she’s pointing at.

  “Welcome to the neighborhood.” Evan offers me a hand over the bar and I accept. “How about a tasting? See what you like.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “I’d like my usual,” Bev orders before turning back to me. “I like reds, but only one glass a day. I read it’s good for my heart and if I had more, I’d be a wino since I live on a winery. Now tell me, Crew, what do you do that you had to work on a Saturday?”

  I hear Addison laugh from across the room, but I tear my eyes away and focus on Bev. I give her my fake occupation that no one in their right mind would find interesting. “Government contractor. I work for the Treasury as a programmer. Databases, some accounting programs.”

  “Oh,” Bev responds with a frown. “That does sound tedious. What brings you all the way out here?”

  “I’m able to telecommute. Grew up in the country, thought I wanted something different. I eventually got a job that was mostly travel. In the end, I got tired of the rat-race and decided I wanted to settle with some space. It’s been good to be back in the fresh air.” I tell her a half-truth as I watch Addison start to point out a window. I realize she’s motioning toward the acres of vines as she speaks.

  “All of our whites are aged in stainless steel drums,” Evan starts as he places a glass in front of me. “This allows for greater temperature control during the fermentation process. It’s favorable for lighter flavors, allowing the winemaker to retain the fruitiness and crisp taste desired in whites. First up is our Petit Manseng. It’s the only grape we grow here at Whitetail. Their loose cluster and thick skins are well suited for the Virginia climate. We sell our grapes to other vineyards all over the region, and in turn, purchase to make the rest of our wines. Did you know our
vines are the oldest in the state?” he asks as he pours a small amount in my glass.

  “Nope.”

  Diverting my eyes back to Addison, my body instantly tightens as O’Rourke slides his chair, closing the distance between them, and leaning in to read whatever they’re talking about. I find myself wanting to throw my glass across the room, but instead, pick it up and toss back the contents, barely tasting whatever it was he poured me.

  “Um…” Evan stutters, frowning. “What, eh, do you think?”

  “It’s good,” I say in a low voice and see the two men watch her carefully while Addison busily takes notes, O’Rourke still too fucking close. But he’d be too close if he was in the north forty.

  “Crew,” Bev whispers, leaning into me. “You’re supposed to swirl it first, maybe even smell it.”

  I say nothing, but nod and realize I’m going to have to play along.

  “Maybe you tasted the smooth lingering finish of citrus and ripe honeydew?” Evan asks.

  I narrow my eyes as if to think and pause before offering, “Sorry. How about you tell me beforehand next time, that way I’ll know to look for it.”

  I down three more samples and agreed that I tasted a mixture of white peaches, orange oil, guava and even fucking lemongrass. I also lied about noticing a hint of minerality, whatever in the hell that meant. During this time, Addison, O’Rourke, and the other guy continue their deep discussion.

  “I think you’re going to like this one.” Evan moves on to the last of the whites. “Addy named it The Delaney, after her mom. It’s a mix, or more appropriately, a blend of our whites. Our winemaker, Van Barrett, won Best in Show for this particular year by the Women of Mount Vernon. The group is partial to Whitetail because of the Ordinary.”

  “Ordinary?” I ask, distracted because Addison and the men move to get up as she collects her papers. The men grab their wine glasses and I see them all head toward the French doors off the back of the building, overlooking the vineyard.

  “Ordinaries.” Bev stresses the word. “They were scattered amongst the colonies. There were Ordinaries and there were Taverns. An Ordinary didn’t serve alcohol, just a meal and a place to lay your head, for a price, of course. A Tavern was a bar. We all find it ironic a property that once housed an Ordinary is now a vineyard.”

  “This was an Ordinary?” I look at Evan, trying to maintain casual conversation while keeping an eye on Addison, but they’ve moved outside. If she goes farther, I’ll have to make an excuse to break away. Not that anything would happen in front of all these people, but no way am I letting her out of my sight with him.

  “No, not this building,” Evan explains. “Addy’s house. The brick portion was the Ordinary. Her house was added on in three different additions over four centuries. The Women of Mount Vernon are partial to Whitetail because George Washington is on record to have stopped over at Addy’s Ordinary when he was in his early twenties. That’s the main reason it’s on the National Register. Plus, women like wine.”

  “You should come to poker night,” Bev declares, slapping my arm.

  I don’t even know what poker night is, but there’s no way I’m going.

  “Yeah,” Evan agrees. “Whitetail’s closed on Mondays and every Monday is poker night in the Ordinary. It’s not really haunted, but it’s fun to freak Addy out.”

  “Haunted?” I ask as Addison walks down the steps from the stone patio, almost disappearing from my view.

  “Yes,” Bev insists seriously, at the same time Evan shakes his head disagreeing, “Of course not.”

  “It is, Evan. You haven’t been here long enough. The past few owners have had,” she pauses to widen her eyes at me, “incidents.”

  Addison walks back up the patio and stops to shake their hands. O’Rourke holds hers longer than necessary, cupping both their hands with his other. They finally say goodbye and she waits while they walk around the outside of the building, disappearing out of sight.

  I can’t take my eyes off Addison. Fuck. As Bev and Evan argue on about ghostly incidents, I watch a smile creep over her features. A real smile, not even like yesterday in my truck when I had her close. Not only does she smile, but she fucking glows, her entire being radiating joy. I see it ripen by the second. The woman is beautiful, there’s no doubt, but seeing her like this? It’s like nothing else I’ve ever witnessed.

  Then she shocks me. She throws her head back, flinging her arms in the air and while still holding her files, she lets out a high pitched, “Yaaay!”

  “What on Earth?” Bev turns toward Addison’s outburst.

  She jumps, letting out a “whoop-whoop” before yanking open the French doors and yelling through the big room, “Ask me what just happened!”

  Everyone in the building quiets and looks at her, but she’s so excited, she doesn’t care. It’s Evan who finally gives and yells back across the room, “What just happened?”

  “Who’s not just a little winery anymore, huh? I don’t need a slimy silent partner to make things happen. This is gonna put us on the map. The big-time-Virginia-winery map. Guess who’s getting a big break?” she sings. Throwing her arms out dramatically, she goes on. “Huge break!”

  “Us?” Bev asks.

  “Yes!” She starts to move, looking around the room. “A glass on the house. Unless of course you’re a designated driver. Then we’ll get you a little coupon or something, you can come back and make your friend drive so you can have a glass on the house, too. We’re celebrating—a glass for everyone!”

  The room comes to life and when she finally gets to us, she stops abruptly. Seeing me breaks into her excitement.

  “What are you doing here?” Her brows instantly furrow.

  “Just drinkin’ some wine,” I casually respond, greeting her.

  “He changed his mind about the tasting,” Bev explains. “Now tell us, what’s so great that you’re celebrating by giving away wine?”

  She huffs a breath before giving her head a little shake and focuses on Evan and Bev. “Do you know who that was?”

  I do, but I’m not answering that question.

  “Sheldon O’Rourke. He’s some, I can’t remember…Lieutenant-General-Colonel,” she waves her hand around, “something-or-other from the Army. He’s with the Defense Department and the other guy is sort of an assistant-Lieutenant-helper-lower-level person. Whatever. His name is Marc Whittaker. Anyway, there’s going to be a dinner next week honoring disabled Vets who’ve given back and helped newly disabled Vets. I’m not even quite sure who all is invited, but it’s a big deal. I guess they’re doing a locally-grown, farm-to-table dinner. Everything on the menu will be from Virginia. They picked Whitetail for the wine. And do you know why it’s such a big deal?”

  “I bet you’re going to tell us.” Sarcasm leaks from Evans’s voice.

  “It’s at the White House!” she screams.

  “No,” Bev breathes.

  “Yes!” Addison yells.

  “No!” Bev yells back.

  “Yes!” Addison holds her arms out where Bev catches her in a big hug. “And guess what else?”

  “There’s more?” Bev pushes her back to look at her.

  “I get to go, too!” She gives Bev a little shake to reiterate her excitement. “To the White House. And eat dinner. And watch my wine being served to big important people, even though I don’t know who they are. Sheldon said he was going to pull some strings to get me on the list.”

  “I can’t believe it.” Bev mirrors her happiness.

  “Me either.” She smiles. “The dinner’s on Thursday. I asked why they picked us on such short notice and he said another vineyard backed out, lack of supply or something. He liked that we have the oldest vines in the state and he really liked that we’re on the National Register. You guys freaked me out about the Ordinary, but now I love it.”

  Bev turns serious. “It’s haunted.”

  “Hush up,” Addison quips, grinning, not allowing Bev to ruin her mood. “He said it’s a smaller
dinner—considering it’s at the White House—around a hundred guests. It doesn’t sound small to me, but who am I to know what kind of dinners they have at the White House. The dress is semi-formal—I need to go shopping.”

  As I watch her go on and on about the details of her news, I wonder what in the hell Sheldon O’Rourke and all he’s into has to do with Addison Wentworth. I get it could be a fluke, but watching him with her, I doubt it is. Experience is telling me it’s more, and whatever it is, can’t be good. Because with the shit he’s into, nothing he does can be good.

  With all that’s not good about O’Rourke and maybe Whittaker, I make a decision. Like so many of my decisions in work and life, it comes fast and it comes easy. Also, as soon as it comes, I believe in it wholly and know instinctively, it’s spot on.

  “I’m goin’ to that dinner.”

  They all stop and turn to me, but I only have eyes for Addison when hers get big, looking right up at me, surprised. “You are?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?” she asks, frowning.

  “I’m representing my company. We support the troops.”

  “Well…” she searches for words, her face etched with suspicion as she tips her head. “That’s a coincidence. An uncanny coincidence, don’t you think?”

  I’d say so.

  “Maybe.” I give my shoulder a shrug.

  “You can carpool,” Bev announces from my side. When I look over, she goes on. “Addy always gets lost in the city. Takes her twice as long as it should to get anywhere. We won’t worry about her if she’s with you.”

  “No, no,” Addison breaks in, frowning. “I can manage on my own. It’s the White House. There’s no way I won’t be able to find the White House.”

  “A carpool. Sounds good to me.” Needing to make my exit, I lightly slap my hand on the bar. “Evan, good to meet you. If you all don’t mind, I’ll finish the reds another day. Or better yet, at the White House. I’ve got wallpaper to strip. Addison, thanks for the wine.”

  Addison opens her mouth, probably to reject me again or tell me not to call her Addison, but Bev cuts her off as I walk away, “Come back soon!”