Half Moon Bay, California

     "Glenna? I know you are inside. Open the door. At once!"

     The authoritative tone snapped her to attention. The clipped German accent was achingly familiar, a voice from the past, a voice that filled her with uncontrollable longing. She had thought she was over that, now.

     Her heart wrenched."Go away, Kurt."

     She felt the thudding in her chest, uneven, like the roll of tympani. A hot thread wound itself around her heart. How had he found her? She'd covered her tracks, moving continually, changing her name. And still....

     An icy edge hardened his voice."We need to talk."

     She took a steadying breath. "How did you find me?"

     "With considerable difficulty." The weathered oak door creaked as he shifted his weight against it.

     She fought to keep her voice steady. "Why now, Kurt? What could we possibly say to each other now?"

     He ground out an expletive. "You should know the answer to that." His voice lowered. "I have something to say but I do not wish to shout it through this door."

     After an interminable pause in which Glenna's mouth went dry, he added, "I have a message from Otto."

     Glenna froze, her heart pounding as once again Otto's words swept over her. You have disgraced yourself in my house. Get out, and do not come back.

     Booted feet scuffled on the step outside. "Enough of this, Glenna--let me in. There is nothing to be gained by refusing to see me."

     Kurt von Daniken filled the entryway. Ducking as he proceeded under the low foyer arch, he paused, then strode past her, up the flight of stairs into the tiny living room. He exuded authority, even in his gait. A dove-gray jacket of soft leather fitted his broad shoulders and lean frame to perfection, its banded collar almost hidden beneath the thick, pale gold hair that curled at his nape.

     He had changed. He was leaner, harder, and he seemed taller than his six feet four. Blond as a Minnesota wheat field, his hair fell over a chiseled forehead. The clear, Prussian blue eyes warmed for just an instant, then the mask fell and they grew cold, remote. Thirty-five now, Kurt looked closer to forty. The years had aged him. And they'd aged her, too. The dark circles she saw in her mirror each morning seemed permanent shadows, intensifying the paleness of her complexion despite the vivid cornflower blue of her eyes. Tired eyes. Lonely eyes.

     Glenna raked her fingers through her tangled hair. She didn't want him here, didn't want to remember how much she'd once cared.

     "Well, Herr von Daniken--" She drew the words out, forcing a casualness into her voice. "Since I know you didn't come for a social visit, why are you here?"

     "I came to collect what rightfully belongs to the winery--to Cresthaven."

     Her voice came out a whisper. "I have nothing of yours. Nothing. When I left, I took only what was mine--the clothes I was wearing." And my unborn child.

     "Oh, but you did take something, Glenna." He spoke coldly, his fingers tented in front of his chest. "The formula for Otto's Eiswein." Slowly he reached up and drew a long forefinger across the fullness of his lower lip. A dimple formed in his close-shaven jaw, but the calculated smile stopped short of his eyes.

     For a long moment she listened to the ticking of the clock on the shelf and watched as he assessed her world. She'd been gone from Cresthaven for five years. What made him think he could barge in now?

     "It's mine,"she defended. "I developed it. It belongs to me."

     "I did not come to steal it--I came to...negotiate. Get your things, your clothes--whatever you need. I will drive you back to Cresthaven. Now."

     "No!" She wrenched away. "If you think I will just pack up and leave, you're dead wrong. I have commitments here, a job which--"she glanced at the clock,"--I'm going to be late for." She made a move toward the stairs. "I have to get ready for work."

     He strode to the landing, blocking her path. "You're coming with me. Now!"

     He circled her wrist with a firm grip and propelled her into the kitchen alcove toward the telephone. "Tell your employer you've had a better offer."

     Perhaps it was his dictatorial tone, maybe his supreme confidence. Whatever it was, he assumed too much. She whirled to face him. "No!"

     His mouth thinned. "Then I'll see that you never work again.

     During the three-hour drive from Half Moon Bay, not more than a dozen words had passed between them. A Bach fugue pulsing from the CD player added to Glenna's unrest. She glanced across the seat to Kurt, noting the tense set of his square jaw, the blunt-cut blond hair stopping just short of his leather jacket. Then she threw a look over her shoulder at the child sleeping in the back seat. Robbie's own darker curls spread over the pillow. One chubby hand curled around a plush brown teddy bear.

     Momentarily reassured, Glenna shifted her gaze to the steady line of black oaks flashing past. The road curved and dipped. Weathered fenceposts coalesced into a blur of gray as Kurt pressed the sleek burgundy mercedes through a deft execution of twists and turns.

     The music ended, and an interminable strained silence followed in which the only sounds were the shifting of gears and the engine's throaty purr. Then they angled right, onto a straight stretch of newly paved blacktop. Anderson Valley.

     Memories flooded, and Glenna choked back the lump in her throat. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She took measured, steadying breaths. If only....

     If only the man beside her had been more gentle. But he hadn't. Kurt von Daniken was made of steel. The palpable tension in the car drove her to twist her fingers in the folds of her flowered challis skirt.

     As they crested the hill, a perfect green carpet spread before them. Row upon row of neatly pruned grape vines swathed the valley floor and crowded up the hillside to the horizon, their early spring leaves a palette of fresh green. From the west, afternoon sunlight shafted through a break in a cottony puff of cloud, then abruptly disappeared as the sedan hurtled onto a graveled lane.

     A hundred yards ahead, two square pillars emblazoned with the von Daniken stag-head insignia stood silent guard. Massive iron gates swung wide to admit the car, then closed with a harsh metallic clang.

     The cold gray-brown walls of Cresthaven loomed from behind a half-dozen sheltering oaks. Glenna drew in a shaky breath. Magnificent Cresthaven, the formidable dowager of Anderson Valley wineries.

     Hell on earth.