As soon as I ducked around the corner, something large and heavy flew toward my face.

  Then all I saw was darkness.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  My mother was calling me in for dinner. Her voice floated across the grass like the lush scents of growing grapes and summer jasmine, wafting down to me on a warm breeze as I hid just inside the cellar door.

  "Emmy?" she sang out. "Where is my little Em?"

  I couldn't help a giggle escaping me as my mother came closer, her voice booming through the heavy oak door.

  "Now, where could my little Emmy be hiding?" she asked, her voice playful and young. "Is she in…here!" She threw the door open, grabbing me in a fit of tickles and giggles that had us both dissolving to the cool tiled floor of the cellar.

  I reached a hand up to touch her face, thinking she looked so young. The skin was smooth beneath my fingers, her eyes sparkling and clear, her mind sharp and not a jumble of memories that often overlapped each other.

  A sadness washed over me, which she must have felt, as her soft brows drew together in concern. "Emmy? Are you alright?"

  I tried to tell her. To warn her what lay ahead. To let her know I wanted to keep her just like this, right here. But somehow, my voice wouldn't work. I couldn't force sound out.

  "Emmy? Emmy can you hear me? Are you alright?"

  And suddenly it wasn't my mother's voice, but someone else. Female. Worried.

  "Emmy? Em!"

  My mother's face faded even as I longed with all my heart to hang on to it, and it was suddenly replaced by another woman as I blinked my eyes.

  "Oh, thank goodness, you're alright." It was Ava. She was hovering over me, her head haloed by a streetlamp behind her.

  I shut my eyes against the harsh light, trying to get my fuzzy head to make sense of where I was. Pain throbbed at my temple, and my jaw felt funny.

  "Emmy. Can you hear me?" someone else asked.

  This time the voice was male. I knew I recognized it, but the pain was stopping me from thinking straight.

  "Hey? You okay?" he asked again. This time the question was accompanied by a warm hand gently going to my hair, smoothing it back from my forehead.

  I opened my eyes with difficulty again, willing them to focus on the face in front of me. Beside Ava, Grant knelt on the ground, his eyes darting around my face, as if looking for signs of life. They found mine and held, a small smile coming to his full lips, hovering just inches above mine.

  "Hey," he said softly, infusing the one word with a whole range of emotion.

  "Hey yourself," I croaked out, lifting myself up on my elbow. A new wave of pain seared through my head, but I tried to focus through it. "What happened?"

  "You were attacked with a wine bottle is what happened," Ava said hotly.

  I tore my gaze away from Grant's with difficulty. "What?" I spied shattered green glass near my feet. I attempted to pull myself to a sitting position, but Grant stopped me.

  "Don't get up," he commanded, gently touching my shoulder. "An ambulance is on the way."

  "No," I protested. "I'm fine." Plus, I didn't have any insurance.

  "You're not fine. You were unconscious. And probably concussed."

  I relented, lying my head back down on what felt like a piece of clothing that had been put between me and the pavement. Mostly because he was right—I did not feel fine. I felt like I'd been hit by a truck. My hand reached around to touch my forehead, where I felt the warm trickle of blood on top of what I could only describe as a massive goose egg erupting from my skull. Nausea rumbled in my stomach.

  "How did you get here?" I asked, trying to concentrate on anything but the throbbing in my head.

  "A silent alarm was tripped when someone breached the perimeter of the facility."

  "Silent alarm?" That was one Ava and I hadn't thought of.

  Grant nodded. "The security company dispatched a guard to investigate."

  I glanced to his right and for the first time noticed the man standing a couple of feet away. He was wearing a gray uniform and had a chin that blended seamlessly into his neck and a belly that muffin-topped over his belt. I had a hard time picturing him running anybody down. Though the gun on his hip told me that it was very possible he never had to actually run.

  "Apparently security found you unconscious, just as your partner in crime here"—Grant gestured to Ava, who had the good graces to at least look sheepish at the moniker—"pulled up in her convertible."

  "He called 9-1-1, and I called Grant," Ava admitted.

  "We were just looking around," I told Grant, wondering how much Ava had confessed. Though, I figured it didn't really matter at this point. We were as busted as we could be.

  "Yeah. I put that much together," Grant said. Some of the softness fell out of his tone, the cop in him cutting through.

  "But there was someone else here," I said. Clearly, or I wouldn't be lying spread out on pavement that was so icky I planned to burn these clothes when I got home.

  His eyes darkened. "Did you see who it was?"

  I shook my head, instantly regretting the movement, as pain flared again. "No. It happened too fast." I paused, thinking of our "dumb luck" at finding the storage unit unlocked. "But I think maybe they'd been in the storage unit too," I decided.

  "Was it a man? Or a woman?" Ava jumped in.

  I pursed my lips together, trying to bring up a mental image. But all I'd seen was the flash of something coming toward my head before the picture faded to black. "Sorry. I really don't know."

  "Well, I can tell you one thing—it wasn't Leah." Ava crossed her arms over her chest to emphasize her point.

  "Why would Leah hit me?" I asked. My mind must have still been foggy.

  "She wouldn't. That's the point, because she's not the killer."

  "You think this had something to do with Heather's death?" Grant asked.

  "Well, of course," Ava said, throwing her hands up in the air. "Hello? Why else would someone hit Emmy?"

  "Maybe they thought she was breaking into the facility," Grant reasoned.

  Which would have been a good thought, because I was.

  "Or," he went on, "maybe someone else was here who didn't want to get caught. Kids drinking. Vandals."

  "Or maybe it was the Tooth Fairy," Ava added sarcastically.

  Grant shot her a look. To her credit, she shot him one right back.

  "Enough," I said, trying to put a halt to their banter before I had World War III on my hands. "My head hurts."

  Ava was instantly at my side again. "Sorry, hun. Hang in there. The ambulance is on its way."

  I hung, closing my eyes again and trying to calm the myriad of thoughts in my brain. I heard Grant stepping away, talking in hushed tones to the security officer. Sirens sounded, growing from a faraway echo to filling the night air.

  The next hour was a blur as the EMTs arrived, followed by more security people, followed by uniformed officers in squad cars, followed by the facility's manager, who was completely up in arms about all the law enforcement swarming his facility in the middle of the night.

  I tried to ignore the general commotion as the EMTs peeled me off the ground and I was poked, prodded, pressure checked, and examined until they suggested I come with them to the hospital just to be sure I was okay. Then I told them I had no insurance, in which case they said to ice, Advil, and watch for signs of a concussion. I had a feeling they still would have liked me to see a doctor, but I appreciated their sympathy toward my uninsured plight as they cleared me to go home.

  "I'll drive you," Grant said, suddenly at my side again as the activity died down.

  "It's fine. I came with Ava."

  "That was not a suggestion," he told me. "I'm taking you home."

  For a moment I feared the Big Bad Cop really cared. Then he ruined it by stating, "I don't trust you enough to let you out of my sight."

  I rolled my eyes, which only minimally hurt. "It was one little break and enter."

  "One?" Grant pinned me with a hard look. "You sure about that?"

  I bit my lip, wondering if James Atherton had a silent alarm that had recently been tripped too.

  "Yep," I lied.

  "Hmm." His eyes said he knew I was hiding something, but thankfully he let it go. "Come on. Let's get you home."

  Nothing in the world sounded better.

  * * *

  Grant loaded me into a black SUV, and we drove through the quiet night. I closed my eyes against the bright traffic lights as we made our way through town, grateful when the relative darkness of the winding lanes to the winery gave me reprieve.

  "So, want to tell me what you were doing at the storage facility tonight?" Grant's voice filled the space between us.

  So much for reprieve.

  But I didn't see any point in lying to him now. "We went to check out a storage unit."

  "J26," he stated.

  When I sent him a questioning look, he added, "You left the door open."

  "Right. We, uh, left in kind of a hurry."

  He made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. "So what were you doing at J26?"

  I took a deep breath and spilled. I told him about Caroline having seen the Man in Black arguing with Heather, about me tailing him from the auction house, and about the rare, expensive bottles we'd found in the storage unit.

  "You're sure they were Heather's inventory?" Grant asked.

  I nodded in the dim light from his car dashboard. "Positive. They all matched the bottles on Heather's inventory list."

  Grants' eyes shot momentarily to mine before going back to the road. "You have Heather's inventory list?"

  Oops. Had I let that slip? "Uh, yeah."

  "Should I ask how you acquired that?"

  "No. Definitely not."

  More indistinguishable grunting. "Okay, so the bottles were the same as the ones on Heather's list."

  I did a mental sigh of relief that he was willing to let that last bit go. "They were," I agreed. I thought back. "At least the full ones."

  "Could be coincidence."

  "That would be a heck of a coincidence," I argued. Then I paused. "You didn't happen to get any information on that storage unit while you were there did you?"

  He worked his jaw back and forth for a second before answering. "Yes. I did."

  "Want to share?"

  "No. Definitely not."

  "Touché."

  His eyes left the road to meet mine again for a second, and I could swear they were crinkled at the corners with amusement this time.

  "Just tell me that the unit was in Heather's name?" I pleaded.

  He sighed, shifting in his seat so that a waft of his aftershave floated toward me. It was subtle yet spicy in the confined space. "Actually, her name was not on the lease."

  "Whose was?"

  "Black Market Wine Group." He glanced my way again. "The name mean anything to you?"

  "No." I shook my head, and regretted it as a wave of dizziness caused nausea to bubble in my stomach. "I've never heard of it." I paused. "And Heather wasn't connected to the unit at all?"

  Grant shook his head. "Not that the manager of the facility knew of." He paused. "Who, by the way, I convinced to generously not press charges against you and your Nancy Drew sidekick."

  "Ava," I corrected. "But thank you."

  "You're welcome," he said.

  We were silent a moment, him driving and me mulling over the new info. "Maybe Black Market was the name of Heather's wine broker business?" I mused out loud, though I'd yet to hear anyone call it that.

  "I couldn't say," Grant answered. "All I know is that the facility records indicated that the unit has been rented by Black Market for the last eight months. Prepaid in cash for another four."

  "Cash?" I asked. "Doesn't that seem suspicious?"

  Grant shot me another look—this one easily readable. If I knew what was good for me, I should drop it.

  "Just saying," I mumbled, letting my gaze fall out the window as we pulled up the tree-lined drive to Oak Valley.

  The gravel crunched under Grant's tires as he drew to a stop and cut the engine. The sudden stillness in the air had me feeling every minute of the late hour in my muscles, making them heavy and weak.

  Grant walked around to help me from the car, which I was grateful for. I'd like to say I could have made it up the pathway to my cottage all on my own, but if it hadn't been for him carrying half my weight, I would have been hard pressed to even crawl it.

  I unlocked the door, pushing inside, and was instantly enveloped in the comforting scent of home.

  "Thanks," I told Grant, stepping inside. "For everything tonight."

  "You're welcome." He glanced around, eyes scanning the room.

  I had a feeling it was a habit for him, assessing every situation the moment he walked into it. I wondered if he ever allowed himself to just relax.

  "I, uh, think I can take it from here," I said. As much as I wasn't hating the heat from his nearness, I was beyond tired. And my bed was calling me like a beacon.

  But Grant shook his head. "I think not."

  "Excuse me?"

  "EMTs said you might have a concussion." He took a step toward me, looking down at me through his dark lashes. "I'm not leaving you alone tonight."

  My head was suddenly dizzy for a whole new reason as a rush of hormones flooded my system.

  Down, girl.

  "Y-you're staying here?" I managed to get out.

  He nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving mine.

  I licked my lips. "I'm fine," I protested. "I don't need you to do that."

  "You can't even stand up on your own."

  "Sure I can," I argued. I held my arms out and stood, as if to prove it.

  And it might have been great proof if another wave of nausea hadn't hit me, making me sway so that his hands quickly reaching out to catch me were the only things keeping me from the ground.

  "Sorta," I added weakly.

  His arms were strong and warm, and I briefly wondered why I hadn't feigned dizziness before in order to be held in them. His face was so close to mine that I could smell the faint hint of evening coffee on his breath. And his voice was low, deep, and laced with emotion when he spoke.

  "Let's get you up to bed."

  I think my hormones just died and went to heaven.

  * * *

  After depositing me upstairs in the cozy master bedroom, Grant left me alone to sleep in the guest room, acting like a perfect gentleman. Much to my body's dismay.

  I wasn't sure if it was the sexy detective waking me every hour to be sure I wasn't concussed or the images of the Man in Black wielding a wine bottle, but sleep eluded me once again. By the time the sun came up, I was more exhausted than I had ever been. My head pounded as I rolled onto my back and spread-eagled myself to the four corners of the mattress. I was just considering getting up, when a text came in on my phone. I fumbled around on the nightstand and checked the readout. It was from Ava.

  You alone?

  I paused, listening for sounds from the guest room. When I realized I wasn't sure if I'd heard any, I reluctantly got out of bed and hobbled the few paces to the guest bedroom door. It was ajar and Grant-less, though there was a page torn from his notebook, with a message on it.

  Had to go. Feel better. I'll call you later.

  Short and sweet, but at least he hoped I felt better.

  I quickly texted Ava back.

  Alone.

  On my way over. I have Half Calf.

  Bless her. The Half Calf was the coffeehouse next to Ava's place that had a cute logo of a cow jumping over the moon and the best caramel flan lattes on the planet.

  I hobbled back to my room and took a quick shower and a couple painkillers. The knot at the side of my head was starting to turn a brilliant shade of purple. I tried covering it with concealer, but I wasn't sure it was actually an improvement. I'd just thrown on an asymmetrical skirt in a flowy peach organza and a slim white T-shirt, when I heard Ava at the door.

  "Coffee delivery," she called.

  "Be right down," I answered as she let herself in.

  I took the stairs slowly, and found Ava shaking her head at me as I came into the room. "You poor thing," she mumbled, her eyes going from my ankle to my head.

  "I tried to cover it with concealer. Does it look that bad?" I asked.

  She made a face. "Well, it doesn't look good."

  "Gimme the latte," I demanded. At least I could be caffeinated if I had to look like I'd lost a boxing match.

  Ava plopped herself down on my sofa. She was dressed today in a long, flowy maxi-skirt, Grecian sandals, and a formfitting cami tank that showed the fact her cup size was significantly higher up the alphabet than mine.

  "So, how was your night with Grant?" she asked, moving her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

  "Uneventful," I emphasized, sitting beside her as I sipped my coffee. "He slept in the guest room."

  "Well, that's just plain sad."

  I swatted her on the arm. "I'm not interested in Grant."

  She raised both eyebrows. "Wow, look at that nose of yours grow, girl."

  I rolled my eyes. "Okay, not that interested."

  She shrugged. "I almost bought that."

  "Have you talked to Leah yet this morning?" I asked, doing my best to change the subject.

  Ava nodded. "She called earlier. Her divorce attorney gave her the name of a good defense lawyer. Bail arraignment is later today."

  "What time?" I asked.

  "She didn't know yet. But she thinks if she puts up the condo for collateral, she has a chance at making bail. And hopefully, the judge won't think Leah is a flight risk because she has Spencer."

  "I'd like to be there," I said.

  Ava nodded. "So, did Grant divulge anything about the storage unit during your super-platonic sleepover?"

  I shot her a look, but instead of harping on her matchmaking ambitions, I filled her in on what little Grant had known about the unit. "Have you ever heard of the Black Market Wine Group?" I asked.

  She pursed her lips, thinking, but eventually shook her head. "Sorry. Doesn't ring a bell."

  "Yeah, me neither."

  Ava pulled out her phone, googling the name. "Wow. I never knew how many people had a sense of humor about wine. There's, like, fifty different companies using some variation of the name Black Market."