Page 48 of In the Dead of Night

Nick resisted a moment longer, then turned and started for the door.

Lewinski appeared at the doorway. His jacket stood open. At his side, Sara saw a leather holster and the blue steel of a pistol. “You heard the man,” he said. “Out. Now.”

Nick glared at Brett Stocker. “If I were you, I’d get your old man a good lawyer. He won’t do well in prison, believe me.”

Lunging forward, Lewinski shoved Nick toward the door. “Unless you and your lady friend want to spend the night in jail, I suggest you move your ass. Now!”

For a terrible moment, Sara thought Nick was going to punch the guy. Hoping to avoid a fight—and possible arrest—she once again started toward the door. Behind her, she heard Nick follow, Lewinski bringing up the rear. “Sorry about this, Mr. Stocker,” he said.

“Get them out of here,” Brett snarled. “I’ll deal with you later.”

Sara barely noticed the opulence of the mansion as she moved down the hall toward the door from which they’d entered. She could hear Nick and Lewinski behind her. She sensed the gun in the latter man’s hand, wondered if he had it pointed at Nick’s back. Or hers.

Outside, in the sunshine and crisp breeze off the bay, she felt dirty, felt the sudden need to wash her hands. Nick made eye contact with her as they headed toward the rental car.

“That was productive as hell,” he muttered sarcastically.

“I recognized the old man,” she said.

He shot her a questioning look. “From where?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve definitely seen him before.”

Nick glanced over his shoulder as he yanked open the car door and slid inside. Lewinski stood on the porch, his eyes hidden behind dark shades, the pistol in his hand.

Nick put the car in gear. “That son of a bitch knows something,” he said.

As they pulled out of the driveway and onto the street of the exclusive neighborhood, all Sara could wonder was what.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Full darkness had fallen by the time Nick and Sara reached his bungalow. Sara hated it that the trip to San Francisco had been a wash. Only now did she realize she’d been overly optimistic in hoping Blaine Stocker would give up his secrets easily. He might be old and frail, but she’d seen the remnants of the young man he’d once been in his eyes. A young man who’d evidently had a dark side.

The lingering aroma of that morning’s coffee welcomed them when they entered the bungalow. “I’ve got steaks in the freezer,” Nick said, tossing his keys onto the counter.

They hadn’t eaten since noon, but Sara wasn’t hungry. She was still keyed up, her mind replaying everything that had happened.

As if knowing how she felt, Nick gave her a half smile. “I’ve also got a nice bottle of merlot that’s been sitting around gathering dust.”

“Good place to start,” she said.

He walked to the bar, pulled out a bottle and proceeded to uncork it. Sara found a couple of stemmed glasses in the cabinet and carried them to the bar. “Sorry I lost my temper earlier,” he said.

“You’re entitled.”

He poured, then raised his glass. “Here’s to uncovering secrets.”

“And vindicating my father.” She clinked her glass to his.

Gazes holding, they sipped. “It’s good,” she said.

“Local vineyard. French grapes.”

“I didn’t know you were a connoisseur of wine.”

“I’m not, but my dad was. He tried to teach me, but I was too young to fully appreciate it.”

“I didn’t realize until today how hard this must be for you, too,” she said.