“YOU’RE LYING TO YOURSELF.”

Abby Hart couldn’t get the four words out of her mind. Even two days later, after the initial sting had faded, she felt the burn. And it was as much the person who’d said them as the words themselves. It was a phrase that made her consider leaving a job she’d committed a year to and not looking back. She would leave and never have anything to do with Luke Murphy ever again.

He questioned her judgment about the lead she wanted to follow.

“It’s flimsy,” Luke had said. “You’re pinning your hopes on a phantom wish, not hard, cold facts.”

Abby’s thoughts swirled with justification for jumping on the lead. Why can’t he trust me to know when something is worth following? Even as she nursed hurt feelings, indecision crossed paths with indignation. Luke was generally so perceptive, and she trusted his instincts.

“Wow, maybe I should rethink my retirement.”

Woody snapped into her train of thought, brought her back to the here and now, their current case. She knew he wanted to keep her mind off of Luke and on the job at hand.

She swallowed her bruised feelings and tuned in to Woody.

He was relaxed in the passenger seat, shades on, gray hair a bit longer than when he was in uniform, looking more like a tourist than a cold case investigator.

“What, you want to grow wine grapes?” she asked.

“Maybe. It’s beautiful here, like a paradise. Seems like a place to put your feet up and relax.”

The bumpy dirt road they were bouncing down right now was hemmed in by rows and rows of bare grapevines. Abby inhaled and exhaled a calming breath and looked around her. It was beautiful; she couldn’t argue with that. And this week alone she’d driven through more vineyards than she thought existed and hadn’t tired of them yet. Though the vines were winter bare, they were intriguing in their perfect uniformity. The picturesque garnish on the scene were the wildflowers dotting the hills, serving to paint a beautiful landscape. Yes, she had to agree with Woody that as a backdrop to a murder investigation, the rolling hills of Paso Robles were inviting and a bit intoxicating without even a sip of alcohol.

This vineyard, the Dancing Purple Grape, was just outside of Paso Robles. It was the last on a list of fifteen that the cold case squad had been asked to check into. After this final winery, they’d be done with the good deed and she’d be free to pursue her lead —sans Luke.

Why can’t I feel relieved? Blinking away Luke’s handsome face from her thoughts, she sparred with Woody.

“Oh, come on. Are you saying you’d be happy to sit around and do nothing?”

“Just saying that when I see this kind of countryside, it makes me consider the road not taken.”

Abby forced a smile and pulled over as they reached the lot carved out for the vineyard manager’s residence. Majestic oaks randomly towered over the small home, a bit of chaos in the midst of the uniform rows of grapevines, and it created a storybook kind of scene that was totally appealing.

“This looks like a fairy-tale cottage, one you’d see painted on the cover of a kids’ book.” Abby turned toward Woody. “Trouble is, in those books something bad often lives in the cottage.”

Her partner laughed. “Think an ogre lives here?”

“If this were fairy-tale Grimm, you can bet that’s what we’d find.”

When Sergio opened the door and surprised them, all Abby could think was Welcome to fairy-tale Grimm. The dog was the smart one, running away at the sight of the bearded fugitive.

Now Sergio, otherwise known as Stuart Napier, was threatening to kill them. Given what he did to his own family, Abby knew he was deadly serious . . . despite the claims he was making.

“Victoria’s the killer, not me. I can’t let you tell her you found me.” Napier jabbed the gun toward Woody. “You. You have a gun as well —I can see it. Very carefully give it to me.”

“Look, son, it’s the end of the line now; don’t you get that?”

“Don’t argue with me! Give me the gun!” Napier was near hysterical and Abby feared the gun in his hand would go off by accident.

She touched Woody’s arm. He turned to her and she could see the worry in his eyes. She gave a slight nod.

He turned back to Napier. “Okay, okay.” Woody slowly reached to his belt, took out the small automatic he carried, and handed it to Napier. Napier snatched the gun and put it in his pocket.

Woody said, “If you’re not the killer like you claim, why not just come in with us? We can protect you from Victoria.”

“You’re not smart enough, and you don’t know her like I do. I know she’s told everyone that I’m the monster.” He waved the gun. “Do you both have handcuffs? Let’s see them. Put them on the kitchen table.”

Abby and Woody both complied.

“Now keys and cell phones.”

Once they had placed the items on the table, Napier shut their phones off and ordered them back to the entryway, to a decorative support column off to the right of the front door. Napier pulled Woody aside and handcuffed him first. Abby knew now that her own cuffs were going to be used against her, and she wondered if it would have been better to go with plastic restraints like Luke carried. If nothing else, they might have been more comfortable. Thinking of Luke pinched her heart as the image of love and concern in his eyes flashed in her memory.

Napier turned his attention to her. He handcuffed Abby and pushed her down on the couch. Abby was numb with the realization Luke had been right. How could she have been so blind? Obsession with getting Alyssa had dulled her senses to everything else. This guy was hinky from the get-go and she hadn’t seen it. Even the dog running away like he had should have kicked her instincts into gear. Her lack of attention to detail might very well have signed her and Woody’s death certificates.

Woody shot her a look that said, “Stay calm.” Napier pulled him back toward a support column and ordered him to sit. It was difficult for Woody to get down with his hands behind his back, but when Abby leaned forward to protest, the gun was quickly pointed her way. Napier half pushed, half helped Woody to the floor.

Was there a way out of this without either of them getting hurt?

“Now, you, girl, stay quiet.” He backed up, gun pointing first at one, then at the other. “Both of you stay quiet and still. I’ll be right back.”

Inside, Abby felt relief as Napier left the room. Securing them like he was, it seemed as though Napier meant to leave them and flee.

Woody had the better view of Napier’s exit than Abby, as her back was against the couch.

“Where did he go?” she asked.

“Out the back door, I guess.” He cleared his throat. “This is a tad embarrassing.”

“I was just thinking that. But if we make it out of this only red-faced, I can live with it.” She’d have a chance to apologize to Luke, to admit he was right and she was wrong.

“You said it. Never expected to be shanghaied by the guy.”

Abby heard the guilt in his voice and knew the real guilt lay with her. “This isn’t your fault. I was preoccupied. This guy wasn’t right from the minute he opened the door and I ignored it. I could have said something.”

Woody sighed. “Maybe you’re right; maybe not. I just can’t help thinking I should’ve done something different. Thirty-five years on the job, never let a suspect get the drop on me. Maybe I should retire completely.”

A door closed behind her. “Is he coming back?”

Woody nodded. “He’s got something in his hands.”

“Okay.” Napier put something odd-looking down by the door, then walked to the kitchen table and grabbed a set of car keys. He had Abby’s gun in one hand and the keys in the other. “I’ve been preparing for this eventuality. Girl, I know that there’s a handcuff key here somewhere.”

“It’s Detective Hart.”

“Whatever.” He found the key and looked from Abby to Woody. “I’m undoing him for a minute, to change his position. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but I’ve investigated this gun; I know how it works. There’s no safety, just a first pull double action, so I’m not afraid to use it.”

He held Abby’s .45 up as if to prove his point.

“We’re not going to give you any guff,” Woody said. “It’s not our job to hurt you, just see to it you’re caught.”

“You aren’t smart enough to hurt me or catch me.” He pointed with the gun barrel and said to Woody. “I want you to be secured to the column.”

“Whatever, sport. Just get it over with.”

Napier bent down, flashing Abby a warning, then uncuffed Woody and recuffed him to the column.

“What now?” Woody asked.

“Listen to me,” he said. “I told you —I’m not the killer; Victoria is. But I’m desperate. If forced or pressed beyond my limits, I will kill either one of you or both of you.”

“We get you,” Abby said. “We won’t try anything.”

He jammed the gun into his waistband and picked up the strange item he’d brought from outside. The top of it looked like half of a pair of giant handcuffs, the bottom part like a rectangular locker the size of a shoe box, but not as thick. Uneasiness engulfed Abby as the item looked familiar, but she couldn’t remember why.

“Bend down a bit,” he said to Woody as he opened the top hinge on the thing in his hands.

“What are you going to do?” Woody asked, without moving.

“Just trying to make sure I have time to get away.” He jammed his fist into Woody’s stomach.

“Hey!” Abby struggled up from the couch as Woody crumpled over with an oof, and Napier quickly attached the odd item around Woody’s neck. It clicked locked and a red light on the box now resting on Woody’s chest began blinking.

A wave of sick revulsion stumbled Abby as she realized what the thing was; she’d seen something like it in training.

An improvised explosive device.

“You sit back down!” Napier stood and pulled the gun from his waistband and jabbed it toward Abby.

“What are you doing to him?”

“Just what I said: making sure I have time to get away to a safe place. I have a plan B and I will execute it.” He held up a handwritten note so Abby could read it.

This is an explosive device. Any attempt to remove it will result in detonation. It can only be removed by inputting the correct combination. One mistaken number will result in detonation. It must be exact. Trying to cut it will result in detonation. I will give you the correct combination only when I am certain I am free.

For a second Abby couldn’t speak. She remembered why the device had looked familiar. It had to do with an attempted bank robbery at a PNC Bank back east a few years ago. A man wearing a similar device had robbed the bank only to be stopped by police a short distance away. The man was handcuffed, placed in front of the patrol car, and officers moved back to a safe distance while they waited for the bomb squad. The bomb exploded on national TV three minutes before the squad arrived. Abby had seen the unedited footage of the device exploding into the man when she was in an advanced officer-training course. It was an image that stayed with her. The blast blew a five-inch gash in the man’s chest. The concussion killed him almost instantly.

Napier taped the note onto the front of the device.

She inclined toward Woody. “Are you okay, Woody?”

“I’m breathing, if that’s what you mean, but this ain’t no way to be stuck.”

“You can move around,” Napier told him. “The device is very stable until you try to take it off. I will give you the correct combination, but only when I’m sure I’m safe.”

“Get safe quick, will ya, pal?” Woody said, and Abby heard the tension in his voice.

“What are you going to do with me?” Abby asked.

“Girl, you’re coming with me.”