Only she was closing in fast. I could almost feel her breath behind me as we neared the outcropping of trees I'd spied before the hole. She was gaining distance. No way was I going to make it to the clubhouse.

  Digging deep, I propelled my feet forward, picking up speed.

  Which would have been helpful if my foot hadn't caught on a fallen branch.

  I launched forward, hands splayed in front of me as I fell to the ground.

  Jennifer was a step behind me. She'd be on top of me in a split second.

  Without thinking, I grabbed the fallen branch, turned, and swung as hard as I could, channeling my one-season stint on the girls' pony softball league in sixth grade.

  I heard the crack as the branch connected with Jennifer's face, and she fell to the ground, silent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  My breath came in hard pants. Adrenaline that had kept me alive faded, leaving me suddenly too weak to hold the branch up anymore.

  The sound that had diverted Jennifer's attention emerged from the darkness as I stood staring at her prone form.

  "Emmy!"

  I looked up to find David Allen running toward me. I could have kissed the idiot.

  "Are you okay?" he asked, stopping just short of me, eyes going from my grass stained clothes, to my wet hair, which I was sure was embedded with chunks of dirt, to Jennifer Foxton, lying bleeding on the ground, her nose at a slightly crooked angle.

  I shook my head. "No. Not okay."

  "Ems." He took my hand, squeezing hard. I could see some of the fear still coursing through me mirrored in his eyes, and I decided maybe David Allen wasn't such a bad friend to have at the club after all.

  "Wow, remind me never to cross you," he said, eyes going to Jennifer again.

  I swallowed hard. "Is she dead?" I asked, still hearing the fear in my voice.

  He let go of my hand and leaned down, feeling for a pulse. "She's breathing," he decided. "What happened?"

  "She tried to drown me. She killed Heather."

  He raised an eyebrow my way. "Whoa."

  "How did you find us?" I asked.

  "I got your text about the Man in Black, but I didn't see you anywhere near him. I tried to text you, but you didn't answer, and I got worried. Caroline Danvers said she saw you take off toward the fairway, so I came looking."

  I shuddered to think what might have happened if he hadn't.

  "We need to get help," I said. I'd lost my handbag and phone when Jennifer hit me. I glanced toward the main building, wondering if I had it in me to crawl there.

  But as if magically summoned, I spied a figure running toward me through the darkness. For a moment I thought maybe I'd been concussed again and was hallucinating.

  "Emmy!"

  I squinted toward the figure. Was that Grant's voice I heard?

  "Emmy!" Within seconds the figure reached me, and I was engulfed in warmth as

  Grant pulled me into his arms. His strong hands came around my back and pulled me close, so close I could feel his heartbeat through his shirt. His lips rested on the top of my head, and his breath whispered over me.

  I wanted to be a strong woman, one who didn't need a man, but his arms holding me tight undid me, and I collapsed against him. His embrace was warm. Strong. And tight enough that it felt like it could keep me safe from anything—even homicidal socialites.

  Suddenly two security guards appeared from nowhere, one dropping to his knees to assess Jennifer, and another calling for an ambulance. I heard David Allen filling them in, voices over the security guard's radio, and several more sets of feet pounding toward us from the main building.

  But I tuned it all out, the only sound that mattered the steady, comforting beat of Grant's heart against my cheek.

  "You're safe now," he whispered softly. "You're safe."

  "How did you find me?" I asked as Grant finally pulled back.

  "I got your message," he said. "It sounded urgent, but you weren't answering your phone. So, I tried your partner in crime."

  "Ava?"

  He nodded. "She told me you were going to the golf club. Apparently she'd been trying to call you as well, with no answer, and she was worried. I arrived just…" He paused, his jaw tensing. "Just as I heard a gunshot."

  It felt like hours had passed since that moment, but in reality it had probably all happened in a matter of a couple of minutes. "I grabbed her gun away," I explained.

  Despite the tightly reined emotion in his eyes, the corner of Grant's mouth curved upward. "You're one tough chick."

  I smiled, though I could feel the emotions I'd been holding at bay all evening starting to leak from my eyes. "Not that tough. I almost peed my pants when I saw the gun," I confessed.

  He laughed, pulling me in close again. As the rumble in his chest died down, I looked up and could see the hazel flecks dancing in his eyes in the moonlight as they stared down into mine. "You scared me," he whispered, his deep voice husky and low.

  I licked my lips. I had a feeling Grant didn't do scared very often. Let alone admit to it. "I scared me too," I added.

  He sighed, and I could tell he was about to say something more, but paramedics arrived then, and Grant handed me off to be treated. Uniformed officers followed the EMTs, and suddenly the entire fairway was swarming with law enforcement.

  After a thorough exam, the paramedics finally declared that I had a good bump on the head and possibly some water in my lungs, but I'd live.

  There had been a moment that evening when that had seemed like an impossibility.

  Somehow during the arrival of police, David Allen had drifted away into the night. I didn't blame him. He didn't have the best record with law enforcement. Though, I had wanted to thank him for saving my life. If it hadn't been for him coming to look for me, I might have been at the bottom of the ninth hole pond by now.

  "It looks like I'm going to be tied up here for a bit," Grant told me, suddenly at my side again. "I'll have one of the officers drive you home."

  I nodded. Home sounded like the best place I'd ever been in my life.

  * * *

  The sun was high in the sky and streaming in through the open curtains when I opened my eyes. While sleep had come in restless fits of visions of Jennifer's gun and the taste of fear that the bottom of that pond had instilled in me, exhaustion had finally won over, and I'd slept in late. Later than I remembered doing in recent years, I decided as I looked at my bedside clock telling me it was closing in on noon.

  I dragged my body from the bed, every muscle aching as if I'd run a marathon the day before. But the hot water of the shower helped work out some of the kinks, and by the time I'd thrown on a pair of sweats, a comfy gray sweater, and my favorite worn-in Ugg boots, I felt almost human again.

  I left my cottage, heading toward the scents of coffee coming from the kitchen. Though, as soon as I got there, I knew a calm, quiet cup of coffee was out of the question. Conchita, Eddie, and Ava were all huddled around Ava's electronic tablet. As soon as I stepped into the room, heads lifted and a cacophony of voices erupted.

  "Ay, my baby!" Conchita cried, crushing me to her ample bosom in a fierce hug.

  "I'm okay," I mumbled into her breasts before she let me go.

  "Curtis and I couldn't believe the news this morning," Eddie said, his perma-smile beaming at me over a cup of steaming something. "I mean, you've had quite a night, huh, Boss?"

  "Forget night—she's had a week!" Ava said, grabbing me in another hug.

  "Coffee," I pleaded with her shoulder as she crushed me to her. "I need coffee."

  Eddie complied, handing a steaming mug to me. Conchita pulled out eggs and brioche to make her famous French toast, and Ava read the latest news from her tablet.

  Jennifer had been arrested, and as of the latest edition of the Sonoma Index-Tribune, she was conscious and expected to make a full recovery. Though, the prison system probably didn't have plastic surgeons on hand to straighten out that broken nose to country club standards.

  Senator Foxton had given no comment to the press about his wife, though he had already officially withdrawn himself from the November ballot. Apparently murder was even more of a career killing scandal than fake wine.

  James Atherton had admitted to reporter Bradley Wu to being shocked to find out what his wife had been up to, though how much he knew about her Cayman Islands account, I still wondered. There was no mention of the money in Bradley's blog, and I silently wondered if James would be able to keep it. It was in an offshore account, making it darn difficult for the authorities to get their hands on it. I only hoped James used it for a good cause—like possibly helping Leah put the Chocolate Bar back together. I wondered, as I sipped my coffee, if another visit to his office and a promise to keep my lips sealed about the account might tip the scales in her favor.

  Speaking of Leah, according to an official statement by the district attorney's office, all charges against her had been formally dropped, and she was a free woman now. I had a feeling it was going to be a while before she fully recovered from the ordeal, but at least she and Spencer could start rebuilding their new life together. Ava even told me she was planning to help Leah paint a mural over the vandalism on the wall at the Chocolate Bar that weekend.

  Ava also said she'd talked to her Links friend Byron, who said Caroline Danvers had been back at the club bright and early that morning to head the gossip mill. From what he'd overheard, Caroline claimed she'd "always known" there was something a bit off about Jennifer and that she'd "highly suspected" that Heather had been up to something illegal. I barely restrained my eye roll at how insightful she was in hindsight. Though in all honesty, if she hadn't come to me about the Man in Black in the first place, it was quite possible Jennifer Foxton could have gotten away with murder, and dozens of the Links club elite would be still proudly displaying bottles of Nifty Dollar-Fifty in their wine cellars.

  Luckily, my part in all of it had been downplayed by the press, though as I checked my voice messages while I finished off a second helping of French toast, I noticed quite a few calls from past clients who'd seen my name in the paper, which had reminded them how lovely our winery was. Two requested event bookings, and another wanted to order several cases of wine for a corporate event. So, I guessed there was an upside to almost being drowned on a golf course by a senator's wife.

  After completely gorging ourselves on French toast and downing at least three cups of coffee each, Ava finally said she had to get back to the shop but promised to check in on me later. Conchita tried to stuff one more helping into me, but I staved her off with a promise that I was full up with comfort food and feeling much better. I gave Eddie the rest of the day off to go give Curtis all the inside dirt, and I declared I was taking a Meg Ryan day and binging as many nineties rom coms in a row as I could.

  Which I did, snuggling under my favorite afghan, which my grandmother had crocheted, as I watched Meg fall in love with Tom Hanks, Alec Baldwin, Andy Garcia, and Tom Hanks again. I was just cuing up Kevin Kline, when a knock sounded at my door, which I took for Ava making good on her promise.

  "Come on in," I called from the sofa. "I'm just getting ready to French Kiss."

  "That's good to know," a deep, husky voice returned as Detective Christopher Grant walked into my cottage.

  "Oh. It's you," I said. Heat suddenly infused my cheeks at how that last statement could have been misconstrued.

  "Well, don't sound so excited," he joked.

  I shook my head. "No, I-I just thought it was Ava." I shot him a sheepish smile, keenly aware I was in sweats and sans makeup today.

  A smile he returned, clearly amused by me. "I, uh, don't mean to interrupt," he said, gesturing to my afghan and booty-dented sofa.

  I felt my blush deepen. "No, it's fine. I was just…taking a Meg Ryan day. What's up?"

  He grinned again, even if the meaning was somewhat lost on him. "I just wanted to see for myself that you were doing alright," he said, his footsteps soft on the area rug as he crossed the room.

  The concern in his voice swept over me like a blanket. If Bad Cop made my heart flutter, Soft Cop made it melt.

  "I'm totally fine." I paused. "Ish," I amended, my hand going automatically to my temple where Jennifer had hit me.

  Grant's mouth curved up again, his head shaking. "You have got to be more careful with that head of yours." He reached out and gently touched the second goose egg I'd had that week.

  "I'll work on that," I murmured, my brain momentarily on pause as my entire body focused on the softness of his touch. I looked up into his eyes, intent on my face as he examined the bump. The hazel flecks were calmer, almost at rest. His jaw was unshaven, and I suddenly noticed a slight Eau de Pond Water about him. "You look tired," I blurted out. "Have you been to bed yet?"

  He shook his head. "We're still running down witnesses from last night."

  "What's going to happen to Jennifer?" I asked.

  He sighed, taking a step back as he reverted to Cop Mode. "She'll be taken into custody when she's released from the hospital. She's got a good lawyer already filing motions to suppress evidence, but considering we have her caught in the act of attempted murder, it will be a hard case to win on his side."

  Hearing the words "attempted murder" put the whole night into perspective.

  "What about Heather's partner?" I asked, trying to cover the images of the evening rushing back to me. "Max Ford?"

  "He's been charged with fraud. We could have pressed for more, but he accepted the lesser charge in exchange for talking. He's admitted to helping Heather fake the rare wines. When she died, he thought he could unload the rest of them himself. He started at Dixons, thinking a wine auction of the lot would be the fastest way,"

  "That day I saw him pulling out of the lot."

  Grant nodded. "He and Heather had been using the auction house as an exchange point, but when Ford tried to sell the bottles, they asked too many questions about provenance."

  "So, he crashed the cocktail mixer, hoping to go direct to the buyers Heather had been working with."

  "Correct. He apparently bribed the receptionist on duty to get into the mixer."

  Bribery—that was one trick to get into the Links that Ava and I hadn't tried yet.

  "And it almost worked," Grant went on. "When we picked him up, he was brokering a deal for a 1982 Margox for five hundred dollars."

  "Geeze, I would have gone at least seven."

  Grant grinned. "That's because you know your wine." He paused. "Ford also admitted to hitting you the night you were found in the warehouse."

  "So it was him?"

  "It was. He said he was there looking to move some inventory when no one would see."

  Hence the unlocked door of unit J26. "We must have almost caught him in the act," I reasoned.

  He nodded. "He said he heard someone coming, closed the door, and hid. He was afraid you were looking to steal his inventory, so he waited until you were alone and hit you over the head."

  My hand went up to the other temple, where that bruise was, thankfully, fading.

  "He said that's when the security guard showed up, and he ran." Grant paused. "I don't know what he might have done next if the guard hadn't arrived."

  I licked my lips. I didn't either, but I had a feeling it would not have ended well for yours truly.

  Grant must have had the same feeling, as he took a step closer and shook his head at me again. "Promise me you will leave the criminals to me from now on."

  I nodded, in that moment truly meaning it. "You should go home," I told him softly. He really did look tired.

  He nodded, his face so close to mine that I thought he might kiss me. Instead, he stepped back. "I plan to."

  "Good."

  "But I, uh, wanted to see what you were doing later first?"

  "Later?" I asked, not sure I understood.

  "Yes. Later. Dinner specifically. I thought maybe you'd like to celebrate with a meal and some wine."

  A whole host of emotions bubbled up in my belly, all of them pleasant and some of them warming me in places good girls didn't talk about. "You mean…like a date?"

  If Bad Cop did sheepish, I figured it would look a lot like the face I was seeing now as he ran a hand through his hair. "Yes," he said, taking a deep breath. "A date."

  I couldn't help the grin that I felt taking over my face. I nodded. "Okay. It's a date."

  His smile matched mine, showing off teeth and everything. "Good. I'll pick you up at seven and make reservations for Ashton's. I know it's your favorite."

  "Wait—how did you know that?"

  "I'm a detective." He winked at me.

  "That's quite a skill," I shot back, wondering who he'd shaken down for that nugget of info. My matchmaking romantic of a house manager came to mind.

  "Trust me," he said, his eyes boring into mine. "I have other skills too."

  Oh boy. I'll just bet he did.

  RECIPES

  Chocolate Molten Lava Cake

  1 stick of butter

  6 ounces bittersweet chocolate

  ¼ cup sugar

  2 whole eggs

  2 egg yolks

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  ½ cup all purpose flour

  Preheat the oven to 450°F.

  In the microwave or in a double boiler, melt the butter with the chocolate. In a medium bowl, stir in the sugar, then whisk or beat in the eggs, egg yolks, and vanilla. Stir in the flour.

  Grease four custard cups or ramekins. Spoon the batter into the ramekins and bake for 12 minutes. You want the edges of the cake firm but the center still soft. Let them cool for 1–2 minutes, then invert them onto small dessert plates and serve warm.

  Makes 4 lava cakes.

  Wine Pairings

  Best served with red blends that combine a range of varieties. Some of Emmy's suggestions: Ménage á Trois Silk Soft Red Blend, Frey Natural Red Wine Organic, Conundrum Red Wine.