“I think over half the cops in the state have donated their time or money to us,” said Scott. “I’m not surprised that there’s a connection. Even you’ve helped out.”

Ava nodded, mildly surprised he’d checked her out.

She stood and shook his hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Heuser. You have a good organization here.”

“Only because of people like you.” He smiled and Ava realized he’d make a good politician. She was glad he used his talent to help kids instead. She had a small flash of guilt that she gave too little of her time to his worthy cause. But everyone has a personal gift with which to help the world. Working with kids was not in her comfort zone. Her gift was the determination to stop a cop killer.

18

After leaving her interview with Scott Heuser, Ava headed southwest toward Oregon’s “wine country.” She’d promised to meet Mason and Cheryl at a winery in Yamhill County. Cheryl had twisted Ava’s arm to convince her to drive the extra hour out to the venue. “It’s perfect for you two. It’s small and intimate and offers stunning views. And there’s wine. Lots of wine.” Cheryl had winked.

Ava wondered if Cheryl counted the number of wine bottles in their curbside glass recycling bin every other week. Or maybe she’d winked because Ava offered her a glass of wine every time she came over. Their backyard had been perfect for a quiet glass in the evenings this summer. She and Cheryl had spent many evenings sitting outside, enjoying the warm summer nights when Mason had to work late. Ava had been recovering from her injury and infection. Cheryl had proved herself to be a good listener. Other times she’d simply sat in companionable silence when Ava didn’t want to talk.

Today the gray skies had burned off in the afternoon, and Ava put on her sunglasses as she sped through one of the smaller cities that dotted the highway out to the country. Suddenly golden fields and filbert orchards spread out on each side of the highway, and she relaxed for the first time in days.

It was stunning outside the metropolitan area. Rolling hills. Blue skies with fluffy clouds. Dozens of informational signs that directed visitors to wineries. If not for the fall nip in the air, she would have believed it was the middle of summer. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard and was pleased to see she’d be on time. The days were getting shorter. She would be driving back to the other side of Portland in the dark.

She took a few turns, following the directions of her GPS and enjoying the winding roads. The road straightened and she spotted a wooden sign with the name of the winery. She looked to her right and caught her breath at the Tuscan-style building at the top of the hill. She turned at the sign and drove between the fields of grapes. Butterflies danced in her stomach.

Cheryl might have found it.

At the top of the hill, she parked next to Mason’s car and looked around, the butterflies growing stronger. Mason stepped out from the double doors of the winery, a big grin on his face. “What do you think?” He had a glass of red wine in his hand. Ava turned in a circle, taking in the views.

“It’s stunning.”

“And you’re still in the parking lot. Come inside.” He grabbed her hand and led her through the doors. Inside, Cheryl was talking to a man with a man-bun and neatly trimmed beard in a long room. The ceiling was lined with rustic beams, and huge windows looked to the west. Outside the windows was a patio with iron tables and chairs that begged her to sit and relax with a glass of wine. It looked out over the vineyards. In the distance the Coast Range separated the green fields from the blue sky.

“It’s perfect,” she mumbled to Mason. One of her eyes burned and she rubbed it. “It’s perfectly perfect.”

He pulled her tightly into his arms and held her. “I thought so, too.”

Over Mason’s shoulder she saw Cheryl hold up her glass of wine in a silent toast, her grin stating she knew she’d hit a home run.

Ava took a deep breath and moved out of Mason’s bear hug. “It feels right. It’s not pretentious. It’s real and down-to-earth, and I could sit on that patio and stare at the mountains all day long,” she told him, watching his eyes. He looked happy, and she realized it was the first time she’d seen him excited since he’d packed to go to fishing at the coast.

“But we have to do it on a sunny day,” Ava said. “It wouldn’t be the same if it was raining and we couldn’t see ten feet past the patio.”

His face fell, but he nodded. “I know. That crossed my mind. The wow factor won’t be the same without the right weather.”

She held his gaze. “Then we’re talking about next summer. Can you wait that long? I wouldn’t trust May for good weather. June is almost as iffy. July or August would be a safe bet.”

“Is that what you want?”

I don’t know.

Doubt must have shown on her face because worry filled his expression and he took her hands. “Do you want to wait that long?” he asked firmly.

“No,” she whispered.

“But this is the right location?”

“Yes.” She hated the dilemma she’d just brought to the table. “It feels right, doesn’t it? And I know that I don’t want to look at any more locations. I’m done. We found it.”

“What about doing it at Christmastime?” Mason looked around the long but cozy room with its couches arranged in snug groups to facilitate conversations. It was charmingly decorated in a country Italian theme. “I’m sure it’s gorgeous here at Christmas even if the weather isn’t great.”