After placing orders, she posted on the store’s Facebook page about the special they were running through the weekend: buy three reds, get the fourth half off. Then she turned to her favorite project – paying bills. She cringed at the gas bill and cursed the ridiculous cost of keeping a large store warm in the winter. Apparently, the folks at Peoples Gas thought she had a half-billion dollars at her disposal.

A little heiress humor.

Shortly before noon, the chime on the door rang as the first customer of the day walked in. Jordan looked up from the bar and smiled at the woman, an attractive brunette wearing a North Face coat and yoga pants that showed off her fit, curvy physique.

Either on her way to or from the gym, Jordan guessed. “Can I help you?”

The woman seemed to ponder this question for a moment. “I’m just looking for now.” She looked around the store, as if checking to see if anyone else was around.

Jordan wondered if Martin had finally found a woman who appreciated a light-bodied, bow-tie-wearing pinot. “Take your time. If you have any questions, let me know.”

The woman paused. “Actually, the hell with it. I do have a question.” She stalked over to the bar. “Is it serious between you and Nick?”

The question, completely unexpected, caught Jordan off guard. “I’m sorry?”

“Nick McCall. Is it serious between the two of you?”

Jordan took a moment to respond, thinking carefully about her answer. “I know a Nick Stanton, but not a Nick McCall.” She looked the woman over. “I’m sorry – I didn’t catch your name.”

“Lisa. And the name of the guy who was in your store last night is Nick McCall. Trust me – I would know. I know Nick very well.”

Reasonable reaction or not, Jordan caught herself bristling at the implication. “If you know Nick so well, why do you need to ask me if things are serious?”

Lisa shifted uncomfortably, seeming to hedge a little. “I haven’t heard from him for a couple weeks. Then I happened to see him yesterday in his car. I followed him here and thought I’d catch him inside the store, until I spotted you two through the door. You looked cozy.”

Apparently, the Nick and Jordan show was picking up viewers every day. “I think this is a conversation you need to have with Nick, not me.”

Lisa laughed at that. “Maybe you don’t know him that well after all. Because if you did, you’d know that you don’t ask Nick questions. It’s part of his whole no-strings-attached, I-don’t-do-relationships routine.” She raised an eyebrow. “Or hasn’t he given you that speech yet?”

Hearing the other woman’s words, Jordan felt it. A pang of disappointment, strong enough that she had no choice but to acknowledge it.

Nick didn’t do relationships.

It should’ve meant nothing. Of course he hadn’t given her any such speech – there’d been no reason for him to. Because, just like she’d thought, any connection between them was imaginary.

With that in mind, she managed to maintain a nonchalant air in front of Lisa. This was her store, and no one was going to make her look like a fool in it. “You don’t really expect me to tell you what Nick and I talk about, do you?” she asked coolly.

“Oh … I get it. You haven’t slept with him yet, have you?” Lisa smiled smugly. “Listen, honey, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ll hear his speech soon enough – right before he fucks you. It’s part of his code or whatever. Trust me, lots of women have been down this road with Nick.”

Jordan pretended to think this over. “Thanks for the tip, Lisa. This all has been very informative. Particularly the creepy part where you said you followed Nick and stood outside my store watching us.” She pointed to a wine display. “Hey – you know what I like to do after stalking an ex-boyfriend? Pour myself a nice glass of petite syrah. And you’re in luck, because we’re having a sale on reds today …”


ACROSS THE STREET, Mercks’s investigator, a man named Tennyson, froze with the camera in his hands when the door to DeVine Cellars flew open. The brunette in yoga pants stormed out, looking pissed. She crossed the street, heading straight toward the car he sat in.

Tennyson panicked. On a whim, he’d decided to follow Jordan Rhodes to see if she gave them something. Anything. Because after eleven days of tailing Stanton, they’d come up with nothing of any significance to report to Eckhart. By now he was familiar with Stanton’s routine: the guy wouldn’t leave his office for lunch until one o’clock, which meant he had plenty of time to kill.

At first, tailing Jordan Rhodes had seemed to be no less boring than following Stanton. Tennyson had parked his car across the street, and using the zoom on his camera, he could see into the wine store through the front windows. Rhodes made a lot of phone calls, worked at the bar on her laptop computer, and rearranged wine bottles. Really exciting stuff.

But then the brunette with the bombshell figure had shown up, and things had gotten interesting.

Tennyson initially had assumed that the brunette was a customer, and from what he could tell through the camera lens, Jordan Rhodes had assumed that, too. But then the brunette had said something that had made Rhodes tense, and Tennyson had begun paying closer attention. No clue what either woman had said, but from their rigid body language, he personally had been hoping for a cat fight. Then Rhodes smiled, gestured to some wine bottles on the bar, and the brunette stormed out.

Tennyson quickly tossed the camera onto the passenger seat beside him and covered it up with the backpack filled with snacks, water, and cigarettes he always kept on hand during a surveillance. He grabbed his cell phone off the dash and pretended to make a call.

The brunette pulled out her keys and pushed the unlock button, and the lights on the car in front of him blinked. So far, she hadn’t noticed him. Tennyson watched out of the corner of his eye as she yanked a cell phone out of her coat pocket and dialed. He’d had a smoke in the car a few minutes earlier, and had cracked the window open to get some fresh air. As such, he was in a perfect position to hear her end of the conversation as she approached her car. It sounded like she was leaving a voice mail message for someone.

“Hello, Nick McCall, or should I say, Nick Stanton, whoever the hell you are today – I’d assumed you hadn’t called because you were on another undercover assignment, not because you had your dick stuck in some skinny blond bitch. I thought you told me this wasn’t about another woman? Guess you lied about that. And why am I not surprised? It’s what you do for a living, after all. Lie to people.”

The remainder of the brunette’s tirade became muffled as she climbed into her car, then she slammed the driver’s door shut and everything went quiet.

Tennyson sat in his own car – motionless – still holding the phone in his hand.

Ho-ly fuck.

After the brunette drove off, he made a call of his own.

“Mercks. You are not going to believe this. I think I’ve got something on Stanton. I mean, I’ve fucking got something. We need to run another background check. This time on the name Nick McCall.”

Twenty-one

AT EIGHT O’CLOCK that evening, DeVine Cellars was hopping. Thursdays often were the store’s busiest nights, as people liked to get their wine situations settled before the weekend. Tonight was no exception.

Andrea pulled Jordan off to the side. “There’s a Nick Stanton on the phone for you. He says it’s important.”

“On my cell phone?”

“No, the store phone.”

“Thanks, Andrea.” Jordan went into the back room and picked up the extension. “Hello?”

Nick did not sound pleased. “I’ve been calling your cell all day.”

“I got your messages; I just haven’t had a chance to call you back.”

“We need to talk about Lisa,” he said.

“There’s not much to say other than what I already told you in my message.” She’d called Nick after Lisa had exited the store in a snit – no clue why that might be – and left a message saying that he might want to keep his eye out for semipsycho, yoga-pant-wearing ex-girlfriends.

“I’m sorry she approached you at your store. That was way out of line.” He paused. “What did she say to you, exactly?”

“Well, she asked some questions about us,” Jordan said. “Then there was some talk about your no-relationship policy. How you always tell the women you get involved with that you don’t date anyone seriously.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

“Oh.”

So it’s true, Jordan thought.

Nick exhaled raggedly. “Look, Jordan – I can’t leave the office right now because I’m working on something that’ll take another hour. But we need to talk. I’ll come by the store as soon as I’m free.”

She tried to sound flip. “There’s really nothing to talk about. After all, it’s not like you owe me any explanations. Although my character was somewhat surprised to learn that you’re one of those guys with lame commitment issues.”

So much for flip.

Nick paused. “I have a good reason for being one of those guys, you know.”

Please. “Those guys always have their reasons.” Jordan could hear the noise from all the customers outside. “I need to get going. I’ve got a store full of customers.”

“No, Jordan, we have to – ”

There was a knock on the door, and Andrea stuck her head in. “Sorry. There’s a customer out front asking to speak with you.”